


Protect and Serve

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Sam, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bodyguard AU, Bodyguard Castiel, Bodyguard Dean, Bondage, Breathplay, Cain is an awesome therapist, Cock Warming, Coming Untouched, D/s, Dean is a bratty sub, Depression, Dirty Talk, Disabled Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel, Edging, Executive decisions made for others, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Flogging, Foot Fetish, Frottage, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Hand Jobs, Healthy BDSM relationship, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Mentions of Mental Illness, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Massage, Sabriel - Freeform, Safewording, Secret Relationship, Sensory Deprivation, Spanking, Sub Dean, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Vibrators, domestic scening, extended scening, fanboy dean, impaling (BDSM), marriage problems, mild food play, no supernatural, pain play, suspension play, temporary loss of body autonomy, temporary loss of cognitive independence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 203,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Sam Winchester is America's newest sweetheart. An in-demand actor and all around Boy Next Door. However, with his fame comes the need for protection. And Sam only trusts his older brother, and former beat cop, Dean, plus his best friend, Castiel Novak, to keep him safe. However, Castiel and Dean share not only a desire to keep Sam safe, but also a lot of friction between them. In an attempt to smooth the edges, Sam pleads with them to find a way to make things work. Castiel thinks Dean needs discipline. Dean thinks Castiel needs to lighten up. Together, they discover a lot more about each other than anticipated.Chapter one now features the best art ever fromPurgatory-Jar!Check her other art out on Tumblr!





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the expansion of my bodyguard AU! Originally I wrote a couple kinky drabbles based on this EW photoshoot, and after some requests, have decided to expand the universe a bit! Enjoy!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/26274174009/in/dateposted-friend/)  
> 

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/25079534067/in/dateposted-friend/)  
[Art by Purgatory-Jar](https://purgatory-jar.tumblr.com/)

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to _Entertainment News Nightly_. I’m Bela Talbot, and here with me tonight is America’s heartthrob, Sam Winchester, star of _Lazarus Rising_ , and starting this fall, also star of the new Netflix show, _Wayward Brothers_. Welcome, Sam.”

Bela Talbot, with her glossy blood-red lipstick, and viable-murder-weapon sharp black heels, stands gracefully from her tall director’s chair to graciously welcome America’s newest international star, Sam Winchester, to the brightly lit stage.

“Thanks, Bela. Hey everyone.” Sam’s shy smile and small wave send the crowd of women into a frenzy, and Dean Winchester at his post backstage, steps further behind the cameras to block out some of the noise. Across the sound stage, he sees Sam’s other bodyguard, Castiel Novak, tilt his head.

“See something?” Castiel’s smooth baritone voice filters from his ear piece. It’s irritating how good he sounds over the radio.

Dean taps his throat mic. “Nah, just shrieking women. The decibel level gives me a headache.”

Castiel’s smoky chuckle overtakes the grating screams; a sound that Dean’s unashamed to admit has been keeping him warm for their eleven months together as coworkers, since the man’s icy personality towards him certainly isn’t. “Get used to it. It’ll only get worse with Sam being who he is.”

“Yeah. The all-American Golden Retriever.” Dean’s sharp green eyes sweep over the sound stage and audience, noting the exits and possible blind spots. The studio’s security is top notch, but force of habit and extra vigilance keep him tensed for anything. He’s on high alert until they’re all back home. He never even fully relaxes at hotels. “He’s earned this.”

Sam, with his endlessly charming awkwardness, leans over to air kiss Bela before taking his seat beside her. He’s so tall that his feet almost reach the floor even from up high in the director’s chair. She praises him, apparently as big a fan as the women in her audience, and Sam dips his head just enough for his hair to fall into his face, though he’s wearing too much stage makeup for his blush to be anywhere near visible. “Gosh, you guys are amazing,” he says humbly, casting his soulful hazel eyes around the crowd.

Even through the scratchy mic, the warmth in Castiel’s voice is obvious. “He certainly has.”

During the first part of the interview, both Castiel and Dean are quiet over their radios, half listening to the small talk. It’s these quiet moments Dean sort of enjoys. There’s chaos around them usually, but Castiel is always in his ear. Sometimes a noise he makes adjusting his jacket or shoulder holster will be enough to turn the mic back on for Dean to hear small things like the fabric of his shirt moving. It’s… intimate, in a strange way. And annoying to admit that he kind of likes it. But it’s also the background radiation of his life, and it comforts him.

Eventually, Castiel breaks in and says, “you’ve got someone in your yellow zone. Three o’clock. Can’t see through the glare from the lights.”

Dean glances quickly to his right. “Just Gabriel and his wanderlust.”

“He should be happy. Sam’s doing very well.”

“Charlie?”

“She’s typing quite furiously on two of her three phones.”

Dean laughs softly. He can’t see her next to Castiel from where he’s positioned, but he can imagine it. “Guess it’s good news online.”

“He’s very popular right now on the Twitter.”

Dean snorts. “It’s just Twitter, Cas.”

“Whatever.”

Dean grins to himself. Something he can always count on is Castiel being a belligerent Luddite. One of the many quirks that keeps him interesting. They may not always agree on the job and have some adversarial issues on a personal level, but in the end, not counting himself, Dean wouldn’t trust anyone else with Sam’s safety more than Castiel. In fact, he’s good enough that Sam’s stopped whining about Dean being overprotective because Castiel Novak is worse. But Sam’s become too famous for any lapse in security, so Dean puts up with Castiel’s anal retentiveness in planning every second of the day because it’s kept them all safe. Plus, Dean’s the action guy. He’ll implement any plan as long as he doesn’t have to deal with figuring out the minutiae.

There’s a signal from one of the crew and Dean says, “three minute warning.” He moves back to his previous position closer to the stage to intercept Sam when he comes off set. Castiel has already moved with Charlie to the backstage area. Gabriel also goes back to meet her, so Dean is left standing just to the side to escort his brother.

Thankfully, the show wraps exactly on schedule, and Dean motions to Sam to join him while Bela approaches the audience to distract them from hollering for autographs since Sam’s a sucker for those, too.

“You did good,” he says approvingly, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he takes point towards the dressing room.

“Thanks,” Sam answers. He shakes his hands out and bounces a little on the balls of his feet before following his brother into the small dressing room. It’s cramped with the five of them stuffed inside. “Wonder if I’ll ever not get nervous doing these live shows.” He plops into the chair in front of the vanity mirror and grabs a handful of makeup wipes out of the dispenser on the table to clean himself off.

“Keeps you honest,” Dean says, going for the snack box by the dressing table and pocketing a bit of everything. Sam’s runner is half for himself and half for Dean to stop him from bitching about freaking granola bars and kale chips, or whatever. Castiel shoots him a dirty look that remains ignored.

“Something like that,” Sam says. He scrubs his face harder. “I can deal with the fame and the money, but this makeup is a pain in the ass.”

“Your nerves didn’t even show,” Dean assures him.

“Twitter loves you this morning,” Charlie says brightly, juggling two phones and a tablet. “You’re trending even though your movie is still five days from release. Must be that Texas charm.” She throws herself onto the love seat beside Gabriel, and the both of them seem to communicate by telepathy as they pass the phones and tablet between them.

Castiel stands tall and relaxed by the door and Dean paces the small space. Sam strips out of his nice clothes for the show in favor of worn jeans and a hoodie.

“What’s the schedule for the rest of the day?” Sam asks.

“Nothing else,” Castiel answers immediately. He has a talent for memorizing the schedule better than anyone else. Or any other human being, probably. That’s why Dean’s 80% convinced he’s either an alien or part android. “Your press junket is at the Ritz tomorrow, and then you’re officially on vacation.”

“Thank God,” Sam sighs. “When was the last time I slept in my own bed?”

“Three months and five days ago,” Castiel answers immediately.

Dean snorts. “That was a rhetorical question, Cas.”

“Nevertheless, I had an answer,” he quips back.

“Enough bickering, children,” Gabriel says lightly, as deft as Sam at cutting them off before they get started. “Things are picking up after this. Two weeks off and then to Vancouver for _Wayward Brothers_. And Crowley’s been down my neck to pencil in a freaking dozen movies during the hiatus between seasons.”

Sam gives himself one last scrub with the makeup wipes, and then turns to face Gabriel. “Is that really necessary? I don’t wanna burn out.”

“He wants to capitalize on your fame while you have it,” Gabriel says with a sneer that clearly illustrates his opinion on the matter.

“He’s the worst,” Charlie says. “No faith in Sam’s talent.”

“To be fair, he goes for quantity over quality,” Gabriel says. “You throw a bunch of shit at the wall, something will stick eventually. And he’s gotten pretty fucking rich doing what he does.”

Charlie scoffs. “Well, if he doesn’t appreciate the rare diamond we have, let’s dump him and move on.”

“Diamonds aren’t all that rare,” Castiel muses.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Missed the point by a mile there.”

“Guys,” Sam pleads giving a hang dog look to his brother. “You promised no sniping today.” Dean’s shrug is a good enough answer for him, and he turns his attention to Charlie and Gabriel. “No hasty decisions, either, okay? Crowley’s done right by me so far, but let’s just take it slow. I’m his big cash cow for the moment, so I understand why he’s being this way. But I want to take the best options. Roles I’m actually suited for, all right?”

Charlie nods. “I’m cool with it. Your fans’ll stick with you if you remain active on Twitter and Facebook, at the very least. They’re digging your accessibility. I barely have to babysit you or edit your feeds.”

Sam chuckles. “Amazing how easy it is for me to not be an asshole.”

Gabriel laughs as well. “Okay, I’m down with the arrangement. Once you’re settled in at home again, I’ll stop by the office and look through the scripts. Pull the good ones.”

“Ones for me,” Sam warns. “Not the ones you just wanna see me in.”

“I didn’t know that other film had full frontal!” Gabriel protests.

“ _Pfft_ , you big liar,” Charlie grins.

“I _just_ stopped having nightmares about that,” Dean whines.

Gabriel scowls. “You all lack the ability to appreciate art.”

“My dick isn’t art. The whole thing was embarrassing,” Sam says, but his eyes are shining when they meet Gabriel’s through the mirror. “You’re lucky I didn’t fire you.”

Gabriel sprawls back on the couch like the cat who got the canary. “I am indeed,” he drawls.

The moment is broken thereafter when a PA knocks on the door and informs them that the studio is clear.

“Go time,” Dean says. “Cas?”

Castiel nods as they all stand and gather their things. “The car’s been pulled around back. No stops this time. The entrance isn’t fully secured, so no autographs or pictures.”

Sam makes a face, but says nothing. He tends to put his fans above all else, and often takes issue with Castiel’s priority of too much caution. But then again, Sam hasn’t see the file his bodyguards keep with letters and gifts from problem fans. Of course, it’s their job, and Charlie’s, to keep that stuff as far away from the star as they can. Dean’s more than happy to take the heat if it keeps Sam safe and healthy.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Gabriel says.

The less famous of them surround the most famous, though it makes for a pretty laughable entourage considering Sam’s significant height compared to rest of them. They usher him down the back halls to the private elevator and down to the parking deck. The black shuttle car with tinted windows is already waiting near the exit... along with a dozen fans who sniffed it out, hoping their wait would pay dividends.

They run towards Sam the second they see him.

“Dean,” comes Castiel’s warning tone both over the mic and from right beside him.

Dean steps forward to intercept the crowd before they can mob Sam. He plants his feet and holds up his hands in a stopping motion, channeling both his inner cop and former FBI agent to scowl hard. The tailored suit and ear piece go a long way to make him look official enough that several fans stop in their tracks. “Sorry, ladies,” he says in clipped tones. Not quite as good as Castiel at sounding like the Secret Service, but close enough. “Mr. Winchester’s got a busy schedule today. No selfies or autographs.”

Most of the group look crestfallen, but accepting. Of course, there’s always one intrepid soul. This time she’s a tall blonde, and tries to slip around Dean with her camera up. Fluidly, Dean swings his arm back and grabs her forearm, stalling her movement and dragging her away. Her camera clatters to the ground, and she makes a surprised noise. “I said no,” Dean snaps.

“You broke my fucking camera!” she returns indignantly.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Dean takes a firm step closer, steel in his green eyes. “I don’t fucking care.”

He ignores her further protestations when Castiel’s voice breaks into his ear. “He’s secure. Let’s go. Now.”

Dean walks backwards, still scanning the crowd and ready to jump the angry woman until he’s right at the SUV’s back door, sliding in next to Castiel. He slams the door shut, and the driver expertly maneuvers them around the fans and into the clogged city streets.

Naturally, Castiel lays into Dean the second they’re settled. “You didn’t have to break that poor woman’s camera,” he says gruffly.

Dean snorts. “Fuck off. She was getting handsy, and trying to get in Sam’s face. It was an accident. You know what those are, right?”

“Of course I do,” Castiel returns shortly. “But if you had any measure of self-control, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean sneers. “Then why didn’t you step in instead, since you’re so fucking good at self-control when things are going nuts and it’s harder to focus? I didn’t see you doing a damn thing but standing by the car letting that woman try to get past me.”

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. “That woman was half your size. If you couldn’t have stopped her by yourself, you shouldn’t be a bodyguard.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dean snaps. “I did my damn job and everything’s fine. Why are you so goddamn anal? That fan dropping her own camera is a minor-”

“- _Nothing_ is a minor-”

“Stop!” Sam barks at them both.

Dean’s teeth clack shut, jaw muscle twitching. Castiel looks equally displeased, but obeys Sam’s order.

“Guys, seriously,” Sam continues plaintively when he’s sure they’re both going to stay quiet. “You’re amazing at your job, and you know I appreciate everything you do, but you’re stressing me out. Dean.” He blinks at his brother. “I love you, and I can never thank you enough for retiring from the police force for my sake, but you _do_ need some more… I dunno… restraint?”

“What the hell,” Dean mutters.

“You’re not a cop anymore, or a Fed,” Sam says. “You’re my bodyguard. And even though your job duties are similar, they’re not the same. You’re not the famous one, sure, but you’re still in the public eye. You still have to interact with the fans. And they’ve got camera phones. If something bad happens, it’ll be on YouTube in a second. What you need to do more of, is diffuse the situation, but your instinct is to treat everyone like a criminal. These are fans. They’re not people who need to be slapped into cuffs. A softer touch wouldn’t hurt.”

Dean scowls, but can’t exactly argue with Sam’s logic. He knows his brother is right. When he’d decided to leave the force and work for Sam, he’d taken extensive courses and done endless research with Bobby Singer. The man knows his stuff. He’s been training the world’s best bodyguards as a sort of pseudo-retirement after having served in the armed forces and the FBI. He’d taught Dean a lot, but his formative years couldn’t be polished away so quickly. He’d been a beat cop longer than anything. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to be cordial when you were jumping over garden fences chasing petty thieves, or hauling people into the drunk tank. Plus, Dean has never been known for being soft with anyone. It made him good at his former job. Though it makes both his little brother and his partner rip him a new one on the regular these days.

He hates the way that Castiel is looking at him with a small smirk, but Sam’s on a roll. “And you, Cas,” he says pointedly. He waits until those blue eyes are on him before he continues, “Dean’s right about you a little bit. You are _totally_ anal. Sure, he shouldn’t have put his hands on that lady, but it wasn’t his fault that the camera broke. She’ll probably complain about it on Facebook or something, but that’s it. It’s not a severe incident.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “It’s the trend, not the single incident. If I let the little things slip, they’ll pile up and-”

“No, they won’t!” Sam insists. “Not always. Look, no one is perfect all the time, but you do an excellent job, and so does Dean. I trust you both implicitly. I appreciate that you put my safety above all else, but you need to lighten up a little bit.”

He leans forward as far as his seatbelt will allow, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “I couldn’t ask for better bodyguards, but I think you two could use a little more cohesion. I want you both to do something for me.”

“What?” Dean asks warily, grateful to see Castiel’s suspicious expression mirroring his own.

Sam smiles encouragingly. “When we get home, I want you two to take some time to get to know each other.”

Castiel and Dean share a startled look. “Uh. We know each other pretty darn well,” Dean says uneasily. “We’ve been coworkers for a year now.”

Shaking his head, Sam says, “I know, but you _don’t_ really, do you? You work together, but I think you’d be able to do better together as a team if you just took some time out to talk. Further than just work stuff. You two always keep it professional. That’s fine with a regular nine to five where you go to separate homes and have separate lives, but that’s not the nature of the beast here. Sometimes this job is twenty-four/seven, and we all live in the same house.”

Gabriel breaks in with a laugh. “You make it sound like they need a counseling weekend at one of those couples’ retreats.”

Even Charlie giggles. “You’d make a hot couple,” she says without so much as glancing up from her phones.

“You’re not helping,” Castiel says dryly.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Gabriel chortles.

Sam groans, bringing them back to focus. “I’m not suggesting anything like that. Just… take some time to have a casual talk. Or a serious talk! Whatever. Lay out some ground rules you can both follow. Maybe that’ll ease the strain a little if there’re some guidelines. I’m not asking for y’all to bare your souls for each other. Just. We gotta try _something_ to ease the tension.”

Castiel hums with interest. “That’s an idea.” He glances at Dean. “We could prepare an SOP. One that the both of us agree on. It could cause less… friction.”

Dean’s also not very good at admitting defeat, but this sort of compromise is a good idea. They might never have the friendship that Sam has with Castiel, but they could iron out the kinks some. “I’m down,” he says at length.

Sam beams. “Great! See? Progress! Take all the time you need. No worries about me. I plan to sleep for like, two days straight, and hang around the house for the rest of the vacation. My freedom is ending really soon, after all.”

Gabriel chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

“As long as you keep up with social media, IDGAF,” Charlie adds. “Maybe take some casual, lazy shots for Instagram.”

“Whatever lets me stay in my pajamas,” Sam says gamely, suddenly all about making everyone happy.

The rest of the ride is spent with Gabriel asking what kinds of movies Sam would be interested in pursuing while he’s on hiatus during the TV show, and Charlie reading him particularly amusing replies to his tweets. She snaps a candid of him laughing to add to Instagram for good measure. Soon enough they’re home. Sam releases a huge sigh the second they’re in the driveway, pulling around the sprawling house to the back entrance. Castiel and Dean exit the vehicle first, though there’s little need to do a security sweep since the home is equipped with the best remote monitoring money can buy as well as high fences. It’s simple instinct that leads them both to do it.

Charlie and Gabriel depart the car next, saying their goodbyes. Charlie often stays at the house in one of the six bedrooms, but since Sam is going on vacation, she’s taking the initiative for a few days off herself. Gabriel, on the other hand, rarely stays over since he has plenty of other clients, though often says that if Sam keeps raking in the movie roles, he might offer an exclusive contract. Dean hadn’t entirely approved of the look the idea put on Sam’s face.

Sam himself climbs out of the car last, thanking the driver, and tromps up the garage entrance directly into the kitchen. “I’m starving and tired,” he whines just as he had when he was a snot-nosed teenager.

Dean smiles. “Plenty of food around. I made sure the house was cleaned and restocked.”

“Thanks,” Sam breathes, yanking open the industrial fridge to grab all the fixings for a huge sandwich. “Guess we haven’t gotten around to finding a new housekeeper, huh?”

“Tough call,” Dean affirms, sidling up to the granite kitchen island, swiping the bag of chips Sam’s tossed down. “Gotta find one who won’t fucking steal from you.”

Grimacing, Sam loads two slices of artisan bread with meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a generous amount of spicy mustard. “How many interviews have you guys gone through?”

“More than I care to think about,” Castiel says. “We have a few promising candidates, pending background checks. At least Crowley’s been able to accommodate reasonable temps in the meantime.”

“Is there any connection that man _doesn’t_ have?” Sam asks.

“Doubtful,” Dean grunts. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you someone soon.”

“Cool,” he says evenly. He’s long given up on being the discerning one where house staff are concerned. Since his fame is pretty new, he hasn’t exactly learned to be distrustful of everyone by rote. Castiel and Dean, on the other hand, don’t have that problem. Therefore, hirings and firings are part of their job descriptions.

So once Sam’s done creating a massive work of sub art, he stacks it on a plate, grabs the chips back from Dean, and makes his way to the hall, turning back before he disappears up to his room. “Please talk,” he says with his huge puppy eyes. “As soon as you can.”

“We will,” Castiel promises, sounding totally genuine.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a little less so.

And then they’re alone. Horribly, strangely, awkwardly alone. Dean drops his eyes to the island and begins to pick up the breadcrumbs Sam left behind one by one, trying not to squirm. He knows Castiel is looking at him. He can feel it. He’s always been able to feel it. It makes his nerve endings itch. He’s not sure whether the feeling is pleasant or not. In fact, he’s not sure about anything with Castiel. The man just… does unusual things to him. Things he has no reference for. But the one thing he does know, is that “soon” for Castiel, once he’s set his mind to getting something done, mean’s “now.”

He also remains silent for so long that Dean is eventually the one to have to look up. As expected, Castiel’s expression is completely blank, but his blue eyes are… compelling.

Dean clears his throat. “Not for nothing,” he quips with a hell of a lot of false bravado, “but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

An expression that Dean can’t quite convince himself to read, flickers across Castiel’s face. “Indeed,” he says thoughtfully.

The thing is, he realizes that he’s equal parts irritated by, and attracted to, Castiel. It’s not news. He felt the zing of it the first time he’d shook the guy’s hand a year ago. But those feelings fuck up his radar something awful, leaving him on his back foot more of than not; definitely more than he’d like. Even worse, considering he refuses to read the man because he sees his own desires sometimes fleetingly echoed on Castiel’s face. Or it could be his imagination. His gut says it’s not, but the alternative is terrifying. Therefore, he deflects like a champ. With a small snort, he mutters, “joking, Cas.”

Castiel takes four steps around the island so that they’re facing each other on the same side, only a few feet apart. “Were you?”

“I…” Dean breathes out. Sucks in more air. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No,” Castiel answers with all the surety Dean’s ever heard from him. “I’m not.”

“Cas,” Dean groans, face pinching. “I don’t… man, I don’t get you at all. I’m trying here, okay? But I don’t understand a damn thing about you. Can’t ever get a read on you. And lemme say: back in the day, I was one of the best profilers in the city.”

“I know that, and I believe you,” Castiel answers honestly, taking another step closer. “Why do you think you can’t read me?”

Dean shifts back, suddenly nervous. His lower back hits the island. Figuratively backed into a corner. Naturally he’d forget his instincts with Castiel around. “‘Cause I can’t.”

Another step closer. “Do you really hate me, Dean? Is that why?”

He shakes his head. “You’re a good guy,” he says slowly.

Castiel slips his long fingers into his pockets. Dean can’t help but watch. “I didn’t ask you that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

The left side of Castiel’s mouth tilts up slightly. “Don’t want to answer?”

“Can’t answer.” Hell. In the back of his mind, Dean’s trying his absolute best to convince himself that he’s being so needlessly honest because his brother had asked him to try, but in reality, he’s scared shitless of lying to Castiel. Not for fear of reprisal, but because… _because_. He wants to get a read on the guy. Wants to like the guy. Is kind of afraid once he starts the liking process, it just won’t stop.

“Why not?” A curl of warmth suffuses Castiel’s voice, and the tone burrows straight into Dean’s chest.

He finds himself studying his partner’s shiny dress shoes. “I don’t hate you. It’s something else.”

“Ah.”

No expansion on the exhale, so Dean looks up again. And. Shit. He’s not sure what to do with what he’s seeing. He shakes his head.

“I’m the same,” Castiel admits evenly. “For you. May I be honest with you?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes out, a little mad he didn’t say “no.” No would have been a lot easier.

“I want you.”

Dean’s eyes pop wide.

_What?_

In the whole of the English language, and in all of the combinations of words that make combinations of sentences that Castiel Novak could have said, that was the last one he expected. Hoped for? Maybe. But that’s a whole other can of worms currently squirming to get the lid off. Doing a damn good job of it, too.

Castiel wants him. _Wants_ him. Wants _him_. Three words he’d said. “I want you.” Three insignificant words. Three meaningless syllables. If Dean chooses to acknowledge them, as insignificant as they are, they’ll change everything.

“Dude,” he coughs. 

Castiel puts some space between them, sensing that it would be easier. It is. And then it isn’t. Dean trails after him until they’re both at the kitchen table, side by side. Castiel doesn’t sit, though, and neither does Dean. He grips the back of the hand carved wooden chair, leaning into it. “I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he says. “You can’t read me because you don’t want to. That’s it. I’m familiar with the sentiment. It’s difficult to work with you and keep myself from saying anything.”

“You say lots of things,” Dean teases gently, trying to lighten the mood.

It does have the effect of making Castiel’s smile spread. “Yes. But you aren’t your job all the time. It’s the quiet moments that drew me. Well.” He huffs a small laugh at the whorl in the wood on the table in front of him. “You’re rarely actually quiet, but you understand my meaning, I assume?”

“I do,” Dean answers. “I get it. When I’m just being me. When I’m here. Not on.”

Castiel nods, sucks in air through his teeth. Hesitates like he feels the need to say something, but doesn’t want the reaction he’s expecting.

“Say what you gotta. Might as well.”

Castiel nods again more firmly. “I think with some discipline you and I could come to a better understanding. Less confusion between how we feel about each other in private, and on the job.”

This is the weirdest talk about having a work crush that Dean’s ever experienced, though like most things with Castiel, he’s helpless to do anything except follow along. And again he tries to lighten the mood with his raunchy humor. “Sounds kind of sexy.”

“Good,” Castiel answers immediately, effortlessly cutting through Dean’s second attempt at deflection. “That was my intent.”

He must be asleep. Seriously. This has to be a dream. There’s no other explanation. Dean’s big enough to admit that he’s imagined himself and Castiel in some compromising positions a time or two. But this is different. This simply isn’t sinking in. “Cas…” he ventures. But that’s it. There’s nothing else there. His brain is well and truly fried.

“Have I said something you’re opposed to?” Castiel asks.

It’s that damn monotone that’s throwing Dean off. The same voice he uses to recite Sam’s daily schedule or go over their shifts for the day. He’s talking about getting naked and sweaty, and _please stop thinking about it_ , _Dean_ , like he’s announcing he’s going to go do the laundry. Dean narrows his eyes. “Again I need to ask: are you fucking with me?”

Castiel releases the chair and takes a step back, the only sign of possible surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m serious, man, are you fucking with me right now? I mean, I get it. I’ve been kind of a dick to you recently, but you’re going a little overboard on the payback.”

“Payback?”

Dean rolls his eyes, not down for indulging his play at confusion. _Nothing_ confuses Castiel Goddamn Novak. “Payback. Comeuppance. Punishment. This shit you’re pulling because I was an ass.”

Castiel’s eyes widen to quite the convincing comical expression of shock. “No, Dean,” he says, more expressive than he’s been in recent memory. “I’m not doing that at all. I’m propositioning you.”

Dean laughs. A full, gut-grabbing, noisy guffaw that has him bending double. “Jesus Christ,” he howls, rubbing at the tears in his eyes. “You’re going for broke! Okay, man, I get it! Fine. Uncle. I give up. Shit!”

There’s a hand on his arm suddenly, yanking him back up to standing and Castiel is about an inch away. “I don’t,” he growls, and then he’s shoving against Dean with the fiercest kiss he’s ever experienced.

 _Oh shit_ , Dean thinks, pressing forward into the storm, taking Castiel’s mouth for all he can, _I give up_.


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean talk it out. And then stop talking it out.
> 
> This chapter is **NSFW**!

There’s really no stopping Castiel once he’s started on the whole making out thing, but Dean’s not exactly keen to put a halt to the action, either. He knows a lot about Castiel on the surface. The man is infuriatingly in control at all times, and in every aspect of his life. Hospital folds his bed sheets, shines his shoes every three days, and hasn’t had a relationship in at least three years, according to Sam. Intel says that he doesn’t like the mess or complication, which fits his nearly-obsessive need for order.

It’s not that Dean thinks the guy is a virgin or anything, especially considering he’s in his thirties and unfairly attractive, but neither did he expect _this_. Active imagination or not, Dean’s only been able to picture them in fairly missionary positions when he’s exhausted and horny enough to let his mind wander where he’d convinced himself it shouldn’t. The reality is much different than the dream. That is, until Castiel pulls away, forcing a very undignified whimper from Dean. Not like he’s embarrassed about it, because he’s not. Things were just getting good. He can’t be blamed for protesting.

But when he opens his eyes and catches Castiel’s hungry gaze raking over him, it’s a whole new level of hot that he’s pretty glad to experience, thanks to the pause.

Castiel’s neatly tousled hair is now messy tousled. His blue eyes are dark, pupils dilated wide. His normally pale, dry lips are parted, wet, and kissed to a deeper hue. He takes a breath to say something, but just before he does, Dean’s errant thought is, _I hope he never makes me come back from this. I don’t want to._

“You need to know something,” Castiel says softly, voice lower with gruff arousal.

“Uh,” Dean answers eloquently. “Sure?” He’s suddenly _extremely_ worried that he’s going to have to live the rest of his life with just this unfairly brief taste of his partner.

Castiel smiles. Tries to hold it. It fades into a grimace. “I’m not looking for a conventional relationship. Certainly not with you. Maybe _especially_ not with you. They’ve never satisfied me in the past, and I fear that if this...” he gestures with one trembling hand between them, “goes as far as we both seem to want it to, I won’t be able to hold back.”

Dean blinks. Tries to process what he’s being told. But he can’t. The individual words make sense, but the meanings of the sentences do not. Which is a little frustrating because Castiel is the one person in Dean’s life who he can count on to always speak plainly. Maybe his brain has actually been scrambled by the kissing. Viable option, really.

One sentence sticks, though, and it makes his heart thud, then sink. Castiel’s not looking for a conventional relationship with him. What does that mean? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Strike the last, they aren’t even really friends at all. “I, uh...” he swallows. “The hell are you getting at, Cas?”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Castiel was profoundly uncomfortable. He can’t imagine that the deep flush on his face is anything besides the lingering lust, since otherwise it would mean that Castiel Robot Novak is _embarrassed_. And in a pretty significantly long bullet list of weird shit today, that would be at the top. If it was possible. “I’ve never had to explain this before,” Castiel mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor.

If only to clear his head, Dean takes a large step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Explain what, exactly?” he demands, irritation starting to dampen his arousal. “Look, man, if this really is some elaborate joke, you can stop now. Sam’s been known to go overboard with pranks, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility that he taught you a few things to get back at me.”

Castiel startles and looks up again, eyes so wide and earnest that Dean immediately cans the idea that he’s being screwed with. Figuratively, of course. He’s not literally, either, but hopes they’ll be able to get on the same page to change that sometime soon. He’s being unfair constantly accusing Castiel of pulling his leg, but Dean isn’t exactly used to things that are too good to be true actually becoming true.

“I’m not, I swear,” Castiel confirms softly. He’s a terrible liar, so Dean believes him.

“Okay, great, now we’re getting somewhere,” Dean says, trying his best to bite back his annoyance. “Is this a friends with benefits scenario?”

Castiel’s nose wrinkles with distaste. “No. It’s... Dean, I’m into BDSM.”

He might as well have said, “Dean, I’m into letting wasps sting my dick for funsies,” for as much of a shock as the admission produces. Dean holds both hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry, _what_? I think I’m having a stroke and hearing things.”

“Do you smell toast?” Castiel cuts in dryly.

“Har har,” Dean deadpans, feeling a lot like a drowning man. “Did you really just say you’re into BDSM?”

“Yes,” Castiel says evenly, clearly on firm footing with Dean’s reaction. It’s probably happened before. Not surprising with how tight laced he comes off most of the time. “I’m a highly experienced Dom.”

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. Despite the shock, his dick gives a small twitch. And even how conversationally Castiel said it, it’s... sexy as hell. He swallows audibly.

“I should have said something well before kissing you,” Castiel says guiltily. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Better late than never since it’s happened, though. I do apologize. What I meant before is that I would enjoy being in a relationship with you, however, speaking from a sexual standpoint, I have different needs than more conventional people.”

“I’m okay with that!” Dean blurts quickly, the words running together. Takes a breath. Clears his throat and modulates his voice. “I mean... it doesn’t freak me out. That’s not… it doesn’t freak me out.”

Something like hope begins to peek through the clouds on Castiel’s face. “The BDSM or the fact that I’m a Dom?”

Dean scratches his ear. “Both.”

Castiel’s happiness grows and it makes Dean ache. “Really?”

“Well...” Dean rocks back on his heels. “It’s... it might not be off the table is what I’m saying.” His throat is parched. “I think we should sit down.”

Almost too eagerly, Castiel complies, gesturing for them both to take a seat at the table. Dean folds into his chair with a sigh of relief. Before Castiel joins him, he goes quickly to the fridge to grab them both cold bottles of water. He puts them on the table, then sits down catty corner to Dean. He wraps his long fingers around his bottle, tracing the condensation with his thumb.

God save him, but Dean can’t help watching the rhythmic patterns he makes. “Honestly, Cas? I’m surprised by this... y’know? Like... you think you know a guy...”

“I understand,” Castiel says wryly. “Frankly, I’m as surprised as you are. I thought you’d punch me and tell me to go to hell.”

“ _Pfft_ , I tell you to go to hell every freaking day under normal circumstances without punching you. I’d have to get more creative about _this_.”

Castiel chuckles like a cough. He uncaps his water. “So, you’re not opposed to my lifestyle?”

“No,” Dean answers, taking a long swig of his own bottle.

“The next logical follow up question is, are you interested?”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “In it, or in you?” echoing Castiel’s former clarification question.

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Castiel admits with a small frown.

“I’m willing to listen,” Dean allows. “But we... we gotta start by dipping our toes in the shallow end, okay? Talk it out, I guess. It’s kind of a big revelation.”

“I understand. After all, just this morning we were fighting like children.”

Nodding, Dean says, “and now we’re having a serious discussion about you slapping me around during sex while wearing a Zorro mask.”

Instantly, the tension is broken. Castiel’s face splits into a grin and he laughs so hard that he spits out some of his water. “I’m not into cosplay,” he argues, effectively sending Dean into a peal of laughter as well.

“Don’t think this is what Sam meant when he suggested we do some trust building exercises, or whatever,” Dean chortles.

Castiel’s laughter fades to amused chuckles, though he also shrugs. “Be that as it may, BDSM relationships are founded on trust and adhering to strict guidelines of safe and consensual practices. Very much the same as what we need in our profession.”

Dean plants his arms on the table. Leans forward. “Are you suggesting that we should use our sex life to become better coworkers?”

“No,” Castiel grins, eyes sparkling. “However, it would probably have that fringe benefit.”

“It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” he admits.

They smile at each other for several heartbeats, then Castiel’s gaze softens. “Thank you, Dean,” he says, total sincerity again.

“For what?”

Castiel gestures expansively. “At the very least, for not judging me harshly for what I told you. And at most, for being open to it.”

This time, Dean’s the one to go a little red in the cheeks. “I’ve, uh... I’ve done some of it before.” He definitely takes some satisfaction in seeing Castiel’s shocked expression. At least they’re on equal footing now. “Couple’a times in the past. Never with another guy, but... can’t say it was a turnoff to be roughed up and cuffed in the fun way.”

Castiel makes a small sound in his throat. Drops his head into his hands, and rests against the table. Even the tips of his ears are red. He mumbles something incoherent. Dean can’t believe his good fortune seeing this side of his coworker.

“Didn’t catch that,” Dean says smugly.

Castiel lifts his head just enough to glare at Dean, but the effect is ruined by the raw, straightforward desire in his eyes. “You would be beautiful bound in my ropes.”

Even burning with embarrassment, Castiel fearlessly states his wants, and that just about does it for Dean. Does it enough for him to slide out of his chair, push Castiel to a sitting position, and slip into his lap. “I’d let you, you know,” he murmurs, kissing away any possible reply, save for a sigh, right off of Castiel’s lips. Castiel tilts his head up, eagerly accepting Dean’s offer with a chaste return of the contact; a repeated touch and release that turns into dozens of kisses while their bodies press closer and closer to each other. Dean’s fingers wander into Castiel’s soft hair, sifting through it hesitantly. Castiel’s left hand splays out between Dean’s shoulder blades, exerting only enough pressure to keep him close; his right hand molding possessively to the back of Dean’s neck.

The warm contact parts Dean’s lips, and Castiel takes the opportunity to swipe the tiniest taste of his mouth. The brush of his tongue is there and gone, but Dean still shudders, draws back.

They stare at each other with something like wonder.

“That was more than I was expecting,” Castiel murmurs.

“Same,” Dean hums.

Castiel’s hand strokes from Dean’s neck, around to trace the strong line of his jaw. He muses, “it appears I’m more than simply sexually attracted to you, Dean. I’d like...” his voice trails away wistfully.

“You sure?” Dean mumbles dazedly, nerves sparkling with Castiel’s feather-light explorations of his face and neck.

“I’m sure.”

Feeling bold, Dean takes Castiel’s face in his hands. He’d love nothing more than to lose himself completely to what’s blooming between them, but he’s acutely aware of the complications. The disaster that could happen just as easily as the glory. “I can’t promise you everything you want, Cas. I need to be clear on that,” he says explicitly. “I’m willing to try, but despite a few unforgettable nights with people whose names I don’t even remember, I’m a novice here. I don’t know all my kinks, or my limits.”

“It’s not all or nothing,” Castiel assures him, equally as serious. “And it’s not all the time. Just... when we both need it. I think we both need it sometimes. And there’s plenty to explore together.” He strokes a thoughtful finger down Dean’s stubbled cheek. “There’s always been more to the hostility between us, after all.”

He’s right. He’s fucking _right_. That undercurrent of Castiel saying, “I could discipline you properly,” and Dean’s subconscious answer of, “prove it.” Slowly, a grin spreads over Dean’s face, easing his facial muscles, as well as his mind. “I’m in.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The trip to Dean’s bedroom is kind of agonizing, truth be told. Though they’d been making out and confessing kink in an extremely public room of the house, by mutual agreement, they decide to put a lid on the rest until they’re truly in private. Dean suggests that Sam might not be so thrilled with his brother and his best friend fucking before the first date, to which Castiel agrees. Sam’s a prissy traditionalist in lots of ways. Not like it’s stopping them. It’s the opposite. So, very, _very_ much the opposite.

That’s how they find themselves as far away from Sam as they can get on a whole other floor, bedroom door locked, both looking at each other like they’re seeing the other man for the very first time.

“I’ve pictured this before,” Castiel admits, still not shying away from the whole truth. “With you.”

Dean stares at his socks. “Me, too. A couple times. But... not really the kinky stuff.”

Castiel takes a single step closer. “We can always quit while we’re ahead,” he says so kindly that it actually irks Dean. “Nothing has to change.”

Dean can’t look at Castiel directly. His eyes focus on the man’s poorly done tie instead. “I already said I wanted to. But I guess we need some ground rules, right?”

Castiel nods firmly. “We do. This could all become quite messy for us and for Sam if we don’t clearly set out the terms of our relationship. I realize it’s not always necessary to do, but in our case... perhaps being as clear as possible is the best option.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees readily. Plus, it’ll have the added benefit of making them far more comfortable the more they talk it out. Dean’s not accustomed to the urge, but he also recognizes the need. Castiel is Sam’s best friend, and Dean’s coworker. And their job ain’t exactly something that can be sacrificed by either of them without negatively affecting Sam. Dean’s been working his whole life to make sure he doesn’t let his little brother down. He’s not going to start because of his libido.

He also feels like he should probably be sitting down again. He lowers himself onto the foot of the bed and nods for Castiel to make himself at home as well. He chooses to take a seat on the desk chair. Probably for the best. Dean’s not entirely convinced he wouldn’t jump to the next level with that man despite everything if he was sitting within grabbing distance. Not anymore. “So,” he ventures, no clue where to begin, and going with the first thing that comes to mind, “are we gonna be exclusive or what?”

Castiel smiles like it’s a great place to start. “I’m not polyamorous myself,” he says. “Are you?”

“Nah,” Dean says. “Not that I know of, anyway. Like... I’ve had threesomes before, but... I prefer one partner at a time if I’m looking for a... y’know... _relationship_.” He cringes. _Jesus, Winchester, are we regressing back to middle school_? “Is, uh... is that what we’re doing?”

Clearly reading his completely obvious discomfort, Castiel does his best to put him at ease by turning the focus to himself. He’s always been really good at that. “I would like to explore both a romantic and sexual relationship with you, Dean,” he says plainly. “To be honest, if it were only sexual attraction, I’d be inclined to not pursue it at all. The risk to our working relationship wouldn’t be worth it. However, feeling how I do...” he knuckles over his heart absently with a distant look.

“How is this even a thing?” Dean mutters. “Seriously, Cas. We’ve been at each other’s throats since day one, and yet here we are talking about having a crush on each other like kids. How did this happen?”

With a wry look, Castiel says, “some of our abrasive behavior towards each other might be because of the tension.”

Leaning back on his hands, Dean smirks, “yeah, awesome psychoanalyzing there, Dr. Phil.”

Castiel huffs a laugh, then sobers. “It’s true on my part. Do you remember when you dated that PA, Ms. Robinson?”

“Cassie?” Dean asks, confused to even be hearing her name. It hadn’t exactly been a big, long thing. “Yeah, wasn’t a bad few months.”

“It was for me,” Castiel says with poorly disguised consternation. “I was jealous. And I treated you poorly because of it. I’m sorry. I never apologized for my actions. Also for my inactions.”

He looks so chagrined that Dean starts to wrack his brain for what he could possibly be talking about. For a minute or two, he can’t come up with anything. At the time, he’s sure he hadn’t thought anything was different with his partner. Castiel had always been a bit short with him. Never letting Dean’s more easy-going nature fly on the job.

He glances up to find Castiel giving him a hard, yet plaintive look. Willing him to see something he doesn’t remember. There’s nothing... unless... “Fuck,” he whispers. “Sam’s handler.”

Bingo. Castiel hangs his head in shame. “Yes.”

“That was you?” He honestly tries to keep his voice modulated, but it does rise slightly in accusation.

“Yes.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a deep breath. It’s all in the past now. There’s no reason to get angry about it. It’s not like he was in love enough with Cassie to have been truly brokenhearted when they’d called things off. Still. It had been a damn dirty play on Castiel’s part. “So... you were responsible for firing Sam’s handler. Because you were jealous.”

Still not looking up, Castiel says, “he was already toeing the line to be fired, but I did... speed up the inevitable, yes. Sam had been complaining about him for a few weeks by then, and I saw an opening. However, I admit that I didn’t have him fired simply because he was bad at his job. I saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and you would have suspected nothing. It was shameful behavior on my part.”

Clearing his throat to get Castiel to look at him directly, Dean frowns at him. “That other bird you killed was keeping me and Cassie apart more. I had to run all those menial errands for Sam all over the damn place when he was filming. Make sure he made his call times, and so much other bullshit. Which meant I couldn’t hang out with Cassie as much. Which meant you didn’t have to see the two of us together.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he apologizes wholeheartedly.

“I gotta give it to you, man,” he says sourly. “I’m impressed with the level of underhandedness there, but that was pretty fucking immature.”

“I realize that,” Castiel says, pained. “I assure you, it’s the only time I ever did such a thing. You were run ragged for two months because of me, and I felt so guilty that I backed off after that. Did a lot of soul searching and second guessing my actions after that.”

“But not guilty enough to come clean,” Dean grumbles.

“I’ve never done anything else like it,” Castiel repeats pleadingly. “And I wouldn’t ever again, regardless of what we decide here. But I also understand if it’s a dealbreaker for you. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

Castiel looks so hurt at being preemptively dumped, it makes Dean soften. There’s no doubt in his mind Castiel feels horrible about the incident. “Dude, it wasn’t gonna be a long term thing with her, and we both knew it. Look, you might have schemed and all that, but if I’d actually been in love with her for real, hell, high water, and Castiel Novak wouldn’t have been able to keep me away.”

A tentative smile curls up the side of Castiel’s mouth. “Thank you. You’re more forgiving than I deserve.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dean quips. “Bottom line is, we’ve both been shitty to each other sometimes because of all the... tension. Or whatever.”

“I think it’s a cause,” Castiel agrees. “Dean, there’s just...” his lips press together in thought, eyes unfocusing again to some point in the middle distance. Eventually he continues, “I feel like I already know so many intimate parts of you that maybe no one else is privy to because of our job.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Whaddya mean?”

The smile turns warm and private. Dean really likes seeing that look. “You hummed ‘Night Moves’ under your breath the whole time Sam filmed that love scene in his last movie. It was just barely loud enough to activate your mic.”

Dean laughs softly. He’d totally done that.

Castiel isn’t done. “When you get particularly bored, you sing ‘Simple Man.’ You whisper to your food when you’re making sandwiches at the catering tables. You pop your neck all the time when you get antsy and want to move around, but need to remain still. You always say to yourself, ‘this fucking tie is choking me,’ when we’re outside and you get overheated.”

Intrinsically, Dean knows these quirks of his to be true. He obviously never notices them anymore, but they’re a part of his character. Parts that no one except Castiel would know because they’re literally always in each other’s ears. There’s no true privacy. He hadn’t considered it before, but even more surprising to him is that he doesn’t care. Most surprising, that he finds he likes it.

“You count out loud when you’re doing Sudoku puzzles,” he blurts since fair is fair, jumping right in because some part of him is afraid that if he mentions the small things about Castiel, he’ll stop doing them. But he also doesn’t want to chicken out. He needs his partner to know they’re on the same page. That he values the intimacy as well. Cherishes it, in his own small way. “You always grumble about them not having grape jelly at craft services for your PB&J. You’ve got a little nose whistle when you fall asleep sitting up. During the colder months, I don’t even need for you to call in the ten minute warning when we don’t have visual on each other, because I can hear you put on your trench coat and snap the collar. It’s such a distinct noise.”

Castiel looks both shocked and pleased at Dean’s admission. “You get it,” he says.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean says earnestly. “Can’t imagine not having you in my ear. Even when we don’t get along.”

Castiel gets out of the chair, approaches Dean, and sinks to his knees before him, peering up at him in supplication. It makes Dean’s heart skip a beat. “I cherish those intimacies because I never dreamed I’d have more of you that no one else can. But no matter what you give me from here on out, I’ll still cherish them.”

“We can have more,” Dean says softly, reaching out to stroke the shell of Castiel’s ear. “C’mere.”

Castiel doesn’t stand to his full height. He simply pulls up enough to be able to straddle Dean’s lap, bringing their bodies together again. “Dean,” he sighs, and they’re kissing again. It’s far from the full conversation about who they are and what they’re hoping to get out of the relationship, but not touching Castiel has become pretty freaking unbearable for Dean at this point. They _understand_ each other now. So much of their dynamic makes sense. The clarity is soothing, though Dean admits in the back of his mind that they’ll still have friction. He won’t always be down with Castiel’s anal-retentiveness, and Castiel won’t always brush off Dean’s casual mouthiness. But he shivers at the thought of how the cause and consequence is going to change. It’ll be a lot fucking sexier now.

Plus, Castiel’s got some distracting hidden moves he’s pulling out now that he has the leisure to do so. He’s heavy and solid in Dean’s lap, yet graceful in a predatory way. Almost effortlessly, he controls the moment, large hands sliding up Dean’s neck to rest against his head, palms covering his ears, and long fingers curling around the base of his skull. With the contact, Dean can _hear_ the soft wet sound their lips make when they come together again and again, his own racing heartbeat thundering through his ears, the crackle of saliva when he swallows hard. It’s disconcerting. And hot. He can’t help but let the guy have his way, because he’s never experienced foreplay quite like this. For one thing, they’re not stimulating each other in any other way, and yet Dean still feels himself spark with arousal. His hands cup Castiel’s elbows just for a point of contact while their lips move together.

Castiel teases and turns him on. Kisses of varying pressures and lengths, all over his lips, interspersed with tiny nips and bites. Then he angles his head further to the side, deepening the kiss. Their tongues touch briefly, then Castiel retreats to the smaller kisses, but instead of being frustrated by it, it ratchets up the anticipation. Anticipation for _what_ , he has no idea yet, but the mystery is pretty fun.

The kissing does exactly like the romance novels say, addling Dean’s brain and making him lose track of time. He has no idea how long he’s been floating on a bubble of passion when Castiel begins to lean into him, hard muscles and warm skin more and more compelling. Without even thinking about it, Dean relaxes into Castiel’s guidance, allowing himself to be laid out on his back. And that’s just a whole lot better because Castiel’s weight is on him from top to bottom, and he smells so good, besides.

Gradually, Castiel lowers himself, testing what Dean can handle without being crushed, first slotting their hips together. Dean gasps into Castiel’s mouth when he feels the length of his semi-hard dick through both layers of their thin dress pants. Dean can’t help it. His hips thrust up. Castiel bites down on Dean’s bottom lip just hard enough to sting.

That’s the tipping point. Castiel shoves his full weight against Dean, devouring his mouth with a kiss that overwhelms them both. He fists into Dean’s button down shirt at his shoulders, yanking so that Dean vaguely wonders if it might rip. He doesn’t give a shit. Not right now. He grabs handfuls of Castiel’s ass, holding him down, bucking up against him. The friction is delicious, as well as very reminiscent of his teenage years when he was too scared to do anything besides dry humping.

Castiel moans in the back of his throat, ending the kiss. His head comes up enough to fill Dean’s hazy vision. “ _Hng_ , Dean,” he growls, bearing his hips down hard and _grinding_.

“Cas,” Dean gasps thrusting up more. In reality they’re barely moving at all, but it’s enough. It’s _so_ enough. It hasn’t exactly been a long time since Dean last got laid, but this is _Cas_. He knows this guy. He’s going to have sex with him again at some point. They’re going to do more than hump like horny teenagers. It’s not gonna be a one-time deal.

Castiel spreads his knees wider, straddling Dean. His thighs clench around Dean’s legs, and _fuck_ Dean knew Castiel was strong, but this is incredible. It’s tight, hot, he can feel the flex of well-defined muscles against him; masculine in a way he’d been missing for quite a while in his recent years of sexual activity. “Shit,” he whispers. He blinks and stares up at Castiel, burning up with desperation. His balls tighten and he keens a strangled noise. “Cas, I really think I’m gonna...”

Castiel’s sassy grin is a thousand times sexier when his lips are swollen from an inordinate amount of time kissing. “You’re welcome,” he quips before diving back down, shoving the collar of Dean’s shirt away with his nose, and biting down on his shoulder.

“ _Fuck_!” Dean moans loudly, whole body tensing in an instant. One more roll of Castiel’s hard body against him, and the lightening up his spine spills from him, releasing the pressure as he comes with a rough shout.

For as pleased with himself as he’d been, Castiel’s face contorts with lust and he comes a moment later with a gravelly moan. Then the sound disappears when he crashes their lips together again.

Their kisses are frantic, but only for a few seconds. They begin to taper off with the aftershocks as Dean and Castiel continue to rub against each other lazily. “Oh, God,” Castiel whispers between long presses of his lips against Dean’s. “That was...”

“That was senior year of high school in the back of Baby all over again,” Dean sighs, taking the kisses.

Somehow ass backwards, Castiel chuckles and continues to kiss him while beginning to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up. Dean starts on Castiel’s shirt from the top down and they meet in the middle, slowly pushing away the fabric. The pants are a bit too tall of an order in their current lethargy, so they content themselves to explore with their hands over the available naked flesh. Eventually they shift until they’re side by side so that Dean can breathe properly again.

“I enjoyed that,” Castiel smiles from only inches away.

“Me, too,” Dean agrees with a soft smile. “Guess we’re doing this thing?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirms. “With great enthusiasm on my part.”

“And maybe less clothes next time,” Dean adds.


	3. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel disagrees with mornings. Dean gives him a reason to perk up.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags for this chapter:**  
>  blow jobs  
> hand jobs  
> brief breath play  
> orgasm control  
> edging

Castiel wakes up alone in Dean’s bed, facing the window. Which has its blackout curtains open. They weren’t open last night. Meaning Dean opened the blinds before leaving the room this morning. He _opened_ the _blinds_ on his _east facing window_. “Oh, no,” Castiel groans. “No, no, no, no, this won’t work. I can’t do this. It’s so goddamn _bright_ in here. I made a terrible mistake. I can’t be with Dean. Not like this.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” a cheerful voice chirps from somewhere nearby where Castiel can’t see because he’s extremely busy stuffing two pillows over his head to kill off the gorgeous rays of morning light.

“Let’s break up,” Castiel mumbles from his cocoon.

“You’re not allowed to break up with me before noon.” There’s a pause. “You know what? You’re not allowed to make any decisions at all before noon because you’re a fucking ogre until you’ve had, like, ten cups of coffee. Didn’t realize it was this bad, though.”

Castiel readjusts the pillow enough so that only his mouth sticks out. “You talk too much. If you’re not here to raise my endorphin levels by giving me a blowjob, or those ten cups of coffee, then what’s the point of you?”

“Sit up, you dick. I brought you a double, double espresso from Sam’s godawful excuse for a coffee maker. That’s equal to about six cups of normal coffee, at least. But if you’re gonna be ungrateful about it, I swear to God I’ll chug it until my eyeballs vibrate, and talk at you faster and _louder_. Do you want that, Cas? Do you _really_ want to treat me this way?”

With a noise of anger, Castiel slaps the pillows off, and whips away the covers. He bolts up in the bed, hair an absolute bird’s nest, eyes barely open. Probably not open. Open enough to glare in Dean’s general direction. “I have a gun.”

“I know ya do, big guy,” Dean laughs. “Take the coffee before I start to hate you.”

Castiel holds his arms up making grabby hands.

Dean sighs loudly and brings the cup over. “How did you survive the Marines?”

“I retired, obviously,” Castiel mutters, breathing in the caffeine fumes before taking a long, indulgent gulp. It should be burning his tongue, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “You make wonderful coffee,” he deigns to mumble.

“Wow, he can actually be nice?” Dean says with exaggerated shock. “It’s only eight in the morning!”

“I thought I just told you I had a gun,” Castiel grouches.

Dean plops down next to him. “Didn’t you once tell me you put up with me because I wasn’t worth shooting?”

He actually cracks a small smile in response to that. “You’re still not.”

Dean bumps his shoulder against Castiel’s affectionately. “Whew, glad you only had a second of insanity there. I was about to get worried with all that flattery.”

“Sorry,” Castiel says, finishing off the mug of coffee in a flat minute. “I’ve never been a morning person. I don’t wake up well. It’s so confusing to go from sleep to awake. And horrible.”

Dean laughs softly. “Actually, I kinda like it. Thought Sam was being facetious when he told me you were a literal zombie when you first woke up. Can’t believe I’ve never actually seen it before.”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s why you’ve always had the morning shifts when we go twenty-four hours.”

“I get that,” Dean muses, “but what about those days we’ve both had to be up at five or earlier to get Sam to the airport, or to an early call, or something?”

Castiel shrugs his shoulders. “I just stay up, honestly.”

“And you can still function enough to do your job?”

Castiel holds out his empty mug and swipes Dean’s when he reaches out to take it. “It’s how I survived the Marines.”

Dean can’t even be mad. Castiel in the early morning is a gift that keeps on giving. He hadn’t realized until this moment when Castiel is sipping a second cup of coffee and glaring out the window like the waking world has personally insulted him, that Castiel Novak has moments where he’s not spit shined to military precision.

Of course, Dean doesn’t even dream of saying out loud that this is the first time he’s been fully convinced that Castiel is actually 100% human. It’s a marvel. He’s giddy with it. There’s something welling up in his chest like the rising sun outside the window, getting bigger and warmer rapidly. He’s not sure what it is. It might be affection, or it might be a caffeine induced heart attack. Seriously, Sam’s coffee maker is a beast. Whatever it is, it makes him shake with nerves; energy he’s not used to having but needs to burn off before he jitters out of his skull.

Castiel, oblivious, is putting the empty coffee cups on the nightstand. He turns back and squints at Dean, probably about to say something.

Dean tackles him back into the bedclothes.

Castiel _oofs_ and accepts the tangle of limbs they create instinctively since he’s not yet awake enough to process the action fully. Not like Dean’s going to give him time to recover and possibly pull the brakes until he’s more with it. Unless he _really_ wants to. Something tells him, he’s not gonna want to.

The element of surprise is a beautiful thing. Dean’s able to pepper Castiel’s face with small kisses, work his way down the man’s pliant, warm body. Man, he’s wanted to taste that tanned skin for ages. He just hadn’t realized it until his mouth was on its exploratory mission. Learning the shape of Castiel’s collar bone, the tone of his firm pectorals, his hard nipples.

Castiel moans breathily and digs his fingers into Dean’s messy bedhead. When Dean adds the hint of teeth to the peak of his nipple, Castiel’s hands reflexively clench, yanking tightly at Dean’s scalp. The sharp pain makes Dean gasp.

Immediately Castiel’s grip loosens. “Sorry,” he murmurs, a bit lost in the haze of passion.

“I like it,” Dean says quickly.

With another moan, Castiel resumes his grip on Dean’s hair and is rewarded when Dean presses wet kisses across his chest to the other nipple. Teasing it until Castiel is squirming under him. “What are you doing to me?” he whines.

Dean chuckles heavily, lips on the move again because there’s a lot he needs to study here. Especially the six-pack strong abs that flex and tremble against his lips as he lavishes them generously with brushes of his lips and swirls of tongue. Silently, he thanks Castiel’s rigorous workout regimen that he sometimes forces them both into because the results are giving him a wonderful boner. “Didn’t you say you were gonna kick me to the curb this morning without coffee and a blowjob? I’ve only done one of the two so far.”

Castiel tugs hard. Dean hisses, head jerking up. A protest is on his lips that dies the second he catches sight of Castiel’s devilish, rumpled look. “Willing to please me, are you? This morning is off to an actual good start, which is normally impossible for me. Thank you, Dean. Such consideration deserves the proper reward, especially considering I was willing to gracefully accept only one of the two.”

_Oh, God_. Deciding to agree to a kinky relationship with Castiel is suddenly the best decision he’s ever made. Despite how sleepy he still is, Castiel knows what he’s doing. And the spark in his eyes shows that he also knows how it’s affecting Dean. A simmer of heat flares to life under his skin. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs.

“I want you naked,” Castiel demands. “Now.”

Dean’s never scrambled out of his clothes so fast in his life. Including that time his sweater had gone up in flames over a campfire he and Sam had built when they’d back packed a good portion of the Appalachian trail after graduating high school.

He’s naked in a matter of seconds, crouched over Castiel again, too turned on to be embarrassed.

Castiel arches a stern eyebrow elegantly. “What about me?” he drawls.

He’d make a comment about Castiel lounging around like some god of decadence, but his mouth is too busy watering as he strips him of his boxers, greedily watching his cock bob up towards his stomach. Shit, it’s a fantastic view.

“Kiss me, Dean,” Castiel says.

The order is a bit on the breathless side, and Dean takes actual pride in that. He moves up Castiel’s body languidly, until they’re nose to nose again, and Castiel’s deep blue eyes search his with the plethora of emotions that neither of them need to put voice to just yet. Castiel’s chin tilts up minutely in offering. Dean closes his eyes and bends down.

Castiel’s kiss is one of the sweetest, sexiest things Dean’s been given. It’s soft and indulgent. Barely-there pressure followed by Castiel using only his lips to tug on Dean’s bottom lip as he draws away. He sighs like he’s relieved, prompting Dean to angle his head more to the side just in case they decide to deepen the contact. It doesn’t happen immediately. Castiel still keeps things light, and Dean follows right along, goosebumps prickling along his skin when Castiel’s calloused hands sweep over his hips to his back, fingers tracing lightly up his spine.

Dean’s arms begin to shake from the tingly sensations radiating through his body and the effort of holding his weight up, so he carefully lowers his hips until he’s situated on Castiel’s thighs, their dicks sliding together for a second as he settles.

Castiel makes a tiny noise and sweeps his tongue into Dean’s mouth, though it doesn’t linger. He favors small, teasing tastes that do a hell of a lot to ramp up Dean’s anticipation. He finds himself helpless to do anything besides let Castiel direct them. He’s high on the sensation, floating and light and so horny that under normal circumstances he’d have already been touching himself or rutting into the hollow of Castiel’s hip, but for some reason, the gentleness that Castiel shows him makes it all bearable. Almost unimportant. He’s rapidly learning that Castiel is an absolute pro at keeping him honed in on _exactly_ what he wants to.

Still, Dean can’t resist rolling his hips once. Castiel’s hand is immediately on his waist, squeezing hard. Dean jerks. Castiel breaks the kiss to say, “be still. Show me how good you are and I’ll let you see stars.”

Dean stares at him wide eyed for several heartbeats. He nods.

Castiel’s swollen lips curve into a predatory smile. “I’ve never liked mornings, but it’s worth it to see you in the sunlight,” he says conversationally, stroking down Dean’s back again, to curve lightly against his ass. “It makes your hair lighter and I can see the gold in your eyes. It’s almost like you were made for the sun. A personification of it. I’ve never seen you so gorgeous. You know what would make you look even better?”

The teasing lilt to his voice makes Dean smirk despite the poetic theatrics that would have had him rolling his eyes at anyone else in the world. “What?”

Castiel’s gaze hardens with a dangerous glint. “Seeing you between my legs with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Dean whines and he grinds down into Castiel’s lap. The dirty talk is going straight to his balls. A sharp slap on his ass makes him shout hoarsely. It doesn’t hurt all that much; just enough to leave behind a nice sting. And Castiel knows how to cup his hand to make it loud.

“Do you like pain?” Castiel wonders out loud, though he’s obviously learned the answer.

“The right kind,” Dean answers, voice trembling slightly. “No blood or weird shit. I don’t want anything, like… y’know, permanent.”

Castiel kneads the spot he hit roughly. “I enjoy the same level of masochism,” he assures him. “I can make you feel incredible,” he promises.

“Already are,” Dean groans, pressing back into Castiel’s touch.

“Shouldn’t you return the favor then?”

He sure as shit should. Sounds like a great idea. “I did promise to turn your frown upside down,” he quips.

Castiel’s free hand tangles in Dean’s hair and jerks. “It’s unwise to get smart with me, especially this early in the day. I don’t tolerate brats.”

“Better find a way to stop me talking then,” Dean challenges, thrilled to be tempting fate.

And what a response. Swiftly, Castiel has used his leverage, and probably a good portion of his military training, to flip them over. Dean is suddenly on his back, and Castiel looms above him, pinning him high on his chest, cock only a few, frustrating inches away. “I’ve got plenty to fill your mouth,” he says lowly. “Open up.”

Dean complies. In fact, he’s pretty excited to show Castiel _exactly_ how good he is at oral. However, he hadn’t accounted for how good Castiel would be at dominating, so instead of being able to preen under his own skills, he’s at Castiel’s mercy. But what a place to be.

Castiel prompts Dean to open his mouth by hooking his thumb on Dean’s bottom teeth, pressing until his jaw is as wide as it can go. Then he scoots up on his knees, tucking them snugly under Dean’s armpits, and smoothly begins to push into his mouth with an endless amount of self-control. Slowly, Dean takes in a deep breath through his nose, relaxing his tongue and throat, anticipating having to take Castiel’s whole, thick length. Which he does. Castiel’s cock brushes the back of his throat, and he feels a spasm, tightening around the tip for a second before he’s got control of it.

“Perfect,” Castiel murmurs, fingers in Dean’s hair again, hands shaping his head, holding him still as he carefully withdraws, then slides back in again. Every time he bottoms out, he cuts off Dean’s air, bringing about the promised stars.

It’s luxurious and deliberate. Whenever he pushes in, all Dean can feel is the silky length sliding against his tongue. Whenever he pulls out, his total focus shifts to the way his balls lightly slip against his collar bone. Dean folds his lips around Castiel’s girth, stiffening the tip of his tongue to drag along the bottom of Castiel’s length as the man languorously fucks him. It feels so good. So thorough. In a singular moment, Dean feels _cherished_. Like the pleasure he’s giving Castiel is secondary to making him feel wanted.

He feels like he’s going to burst with it.

Incredibly, Castiel seems to read him flawlessly, because this time when he withdraws, he doesn’t push back in. He takes in Dean’s dazed expression, already looking completely fucked out, and smiles. “This side of you is everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he says affectionately.

Dean wants to say thank you, or beg for more, but words are beyond him, as is knowing exactly what he wants for himself. He can only lie back completely at Castiel’s mercy as the man shifts down until he’s straddling Dean’s hips this time, fingers wrapping around both their lengths.

Dean hadn’t realized how close his orgasm was until his neglected dick is touched. “I’ll give you permission when I want you to come,” Castiel warns.

Moaning, Dean’s head falls back against the pillow, neck arched and straining to hold back. He’s not sure if he can, but he fiercely wants to for Castiel. To be as good for him as Castiel is being to him. He’s a firm believer in giving and receiving in equal measure, after all.

“Can you do that for me, sweet boy?” Castiel purrs, pumping them in his fist with a measured pace.

“Dunno!” Dean gasps, insanely and inexplicably on fire from the endearment.

Castiel moans with him, picking up the pace just slightly. “You’re doing so well. I’m so pleased. You make me so hard, Dean. Can you feel it? Can you feel how hot I am for you?”

Gritting his teeth, Dean nods frantically, worried that if he moves too much, the lit fuse in his belly will burn down to hit the explosives. It’s pure sensory overload. Castiel’s harsh panted breaths. The obscene wet sounds of Castiel jerking them off. The rough moans that he doesn’t even bother to keep quiet. The fact that Dean forcing himself to not get off, is getting Castiel off.

When Castiel comes, his whole body shakes with it. Dean opens his eyes to watch it in all its glory, so, _so_ grateful he’s been granted the opportunity to see Castiel suck his bottom lip between his teeth and bite down, muffling his moan. He tightens his hand over their cockheads to keep the mess contained, and Dean can feel the spreading warmth oozing down his own dick.

_Fuck_ , it’s nearly enough. His body tenses. Castiel lets go abruptly. Dean’s teeth grinding together as his orgasm is ripped out of reach, is audible.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel pants wonderingly. “You’re so good for me.”

“I’m so angry,” Dean corrects harshly. “You gotta let me come, man!”

“Not just yet,” Castiel muses. “That would be too easy. You wouldn’t learn any restraint that way. No discipline.” His clean hand reaches up, stroking from Dean’s arm to his wrist, massaging firmly until Dean realizes he’s been holding onto the pillow under his head in a white knuckled grip. He’s afraid to release it, even though his fingers are starting to cramp. He’s afraid to move at all.

“Shh,” Castiel soothes, massaging with a comforting touch that thankfully doesn’t arouse Dean further. “Relax for me, Dean. You can do it. You’ve already been so wonderful.” The susurration of his voice fades into the background as he encourages Dean to modulate his breathing. Unclench. He does eventually, and Castiel entwines their fingers, bringing his arm forward and pressing Dean’s palm to his face. He turns his head to plant a kiss in the center of his palm, then rubs his stubble over the spot.

Dean revels in the touch since it grounds him. Soon, the buzzing is manageable. He blinks several times to clear his vision. “You’re killing me here,” he laments softly.

Castiel’s chuckle is warm, like he’s not in the middle of doling out some serious torture. “You need to learn to appreciate taking things slow.”

“That’s a lot of lessons all at once, and really rich from a guy who’s already come,” Dean complains.

Castiel takes his time to kiss every one of Dean’s fingers in turn. “Patience. Discipline. Appreciation.”

“You teaching me to be a good sub, or the statutes of karate, Mr. Miyagi?”

Right hand thus far unmoved from their cocks, Castiel rubs down now to squeeze Dean’s balls just enough to be a short shock of pain. Dean grunts, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “ _Shit!_ ” he huffs.

“I’ll train you out of your brattiness, boy.”

_You’ll try_ , Dean’s rebellious mind supplies, but he keeps his mouth shut. Clearly his silence is the right choice because Castiel’s face eases into a more doting expression once again. “Please,” Dean whispers.

Using the cooling ejaculate as lubricant, Castiel lets go of his spent cock and begins to stroke Dean again in a loose fist. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

Dean chews on his tongue to loosen his jaw enough to get out another, “please.”

“What are you asking me for, Dean?” Castiel asks casually. “I won’t know if you don’t ask, and I certainly can’t give it to you if I don’t know what it is.”

“Wanna come,” Dean slurs, closes his eyes again, rides on the waves of pleasure that are far quicker to crest, and even more intense. He’d meant to call Castiel an asshole, but his dick has all the votes for the moment.

“Of course you do,” Castiel says. His pace increases again.

Dean thrusts into Castiel’s hand, thankful that he allows it. For a minute. When his abs begin to clench, balls tightening, Castiel stops again with a final squeeze, crooning about how beautiful Dean is, obedient, while Dean groans and whines at the denial of his orgasm again. Blood thunders through his body, throbbing in his dick which is painfully protesting stopping again. There’s a hand on his cheek, making his facial muscles twitch, but the touch becomes more substantial, stroking lovingly. Wiping away tears he was unaware of and certainly doesn’t fully understand.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is down to nothing. The single syllable is broken and needy. He opens his eyes. He sees Castiel’s bright grin for a second before he touches their foreheads together.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing for me?” Castiel whispers.

He’s barely sure that he can understand words at all at this point, but his foggy brain sticks on something. Something that’s telling him to address because it’s significant to this whole, crazy relationship that’s only barely feeling real yet. “For you?” Dean echoes faintly.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Dean, do you know how proud of you I am right now? Grateful?”

“I’m trying,” Dean moans. “Y-you asked, so…” So.

“I know. You admitted that you’ve got no real experience here, but you’re trying so hard. For my sake. Because I wanted you to, and you want to please me. I want to bring you such pleasure, Dean. I know I can do that. I know we can give that to each other. Everything you’re doing for me right now is so much more than I was expecting. You’re capable of being an incredible sub - that’s true - but without even a discussion of terms, just you trying to do something impossible like make me happy in the morning... it’s more than I deserve.”

He lifts his head only enough to place a kiss on Dean’s forehead, over his cheeks, down to his mouth. He lingers for a moment and then murmurs, “you can come now.”

Dean is so wrapped up in the hypnotic cadence of Castiel’s voice, his kind words, that he hadn’t even noticed that Castiel had started to pump his dick again in long, slow pulls.

Finally with permission, Dean gives himself up to the intense buildup of sensations. He can feel the pressure lighting him up from the inside out. It crawls from his core down to his toes, up to his crown. Castiel takes his time, seemingly reinforcing the “lesson,” but it’s no hardship this time around.

Dean’s toes curl and his hips buck up. Castiel captures his lips in a deep kiss and Dean comes with a throat-burning moan, lower back arching off the bed. Spots flicker behind his closed eyelids, and he feels close to blacking out until Castiel urges him to breathe. It’s difficult to do.

Kiss after kiss lands over Dean’s face, Dean doing his best to reciprocate, but he can’t get any of his muscles to respond for a while. When he’s able to open his eyes again, not so much move, Castiel has left the bed to cross over to the en suite bathroom to grab a damp washcloth. He cleans them up diligently while Dean recovers.

“Wow,” he sighs.

Castiel settles beside him, beaming. “Thank you.”

“Was it good for you?” Dean asks lazily.

“Beyond that,” Castiel answers. “It was amazing. Eye opening. Unexpected.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mutters. “No need to write sonnets about it.”

Chuckling, Castiel kisses him again. “I’m terrible with poetry anyway.”

Dean rolls onto his side, propping his arm under the pillow and studying Castiel’s satisfied face. “Your eyes are a lot bluer right now,” he says without thinking. His brain appears to want to write its own sonnets in Castiel’s stead during the afterglow.

“You attitude towards me is a lot better right now,” Castiel says back.

Dean huffs a laugh. “A good endorphin rush after an orgasm helps with that.”

“It does,” Castiel agrees.

“Also makes me hungry,” Dean says right as his stomach takes that fortuitous moment to growl loudly.

“We burned a lot of calories. Let’s go eat, shall we?”

Dean sits up and rolls off the bed, stands tall and stretches, hands over his head. Nothing pops. He’s glad he changed to memory foam.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Castiel says, tugging on his undershirt and boxers.

“Aw, what, you’re gonna get dressed? Like, for the day?” Dean complains.

“Of course not,” Castiel scoffs. “But it’s cold, so I need something to cover myself with.”

Dean pulls on a hoodie and his most worn in sweatpants. He follows Castiel out of his room, down the hall to Castiel’s door.

Castiel turns around and rests his back against his closed door. “Walking me home?”

“I’m a gentleman,” Dean teases lightly, kissing him for as long as he likes. Castiel is happy to go with the flow. But then both their stomachs rumble and they break apart with semi-embarrassed laughs. “Anyway, yeah, see you downstairs.” One more quick kiss, and then he’s jogging back down the hall to the stairs before he does something _totally_ out of character, like deciding food is secondary to more kissing.

Sam’s in the kitchen eating sliced fruit and scrambled eggs, swiping around on his tablet. “‘Morning, Dean,” he says without looking up.

“‘Morning,” Dean answers, going for a cup of coffee and a small bowl of the fruit while he waits for Castiel. Maybe he’d unclench enough in the lingering afterglow to have a quality breakfast of eggs and sausage or something. He’s contemplating the offerings in the fridge when Castiel makes his appearance.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greets back. “Eggs and sausage. Say you’re cool with that for breakfast.”

“I’m cool with that for breakfast,” he parrots dutifully. It earns him a bright grin from Dean and a flurry of cooking activity.

Castiel pours his third cup of coffee and joins a bewildered Sam at the table. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Uh, hey Cas,” Sam says haltingly. “You seem... I dunno. Awake this morning?”

Castiel smiles. “Dean brought me coffee,” he explains.

“Did you lose a bet?” Sam asks his brother.

Dean scoffs. Castiel laughs, which surprises Sam. “Dean,” Sam says primly. “Did you lace the coffee with something? I don’t wanna be one of those stars who gets a reputation for drugs and bad lifestyle choices.”

Dean laughs this time, and Castiel scowls. “Is being rude a Winchester family trait?”

“Yes,” Sam and Dean say in unison.

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“So, hey,” Sam starts in an obvious redirect, “guess you guys patched things up a little? That’s great!”

“There wasn’t anything to ‘patch up,’“ Castiel informs him, air quotes and all. “We simply needed to come to a better... understanding.”

The slight stress of the word isn’t lost on Dean, who turns his back completely to tend to the scrambled eggs. Sam, however, misses it by a safe mile. “As long as we can have some more harmony when we’re on the clock, I don’t care how you do it,” he says sincerely. Dean smirks to himself. If he only knew.

“I apologize for the both of us,” Castiel says evenly. “Neither Dean nor I meant to cause any strain to you.”

“It’s fine,” Sam waves it away. “It’s just that you’re the two most important people in my life, y’know? And I was sure you’d be able to get along if you came to a better understanding.”

Castiel nods along in agreement. “We both have some less than desirable habits that need to be trained out of us.”

Dean gives Castiel a warning look in the midst of bringing them full plates. Castiel winks at him surreptitiously when a chime from Sam’s tablet draws his attention away momentarily.

“Thought you were taking a real vacation,” Dean grunts, not quite ready to dodge innuendo in a brand new relationship.

“I am,” Sam says. “Gabriel just emailed me a few scripts. The sooner I can look them over, the sooner they won’t be hanging over my head and I can enjoy some _actual_ relaxation.”

“Does that guy ever sleep?” Dean says incredulously.

“It appears not,” Castiel says, digging into his eggs and making a pleased noise at the flavor. “These are great, Dean. What did you put in them besides pepper? Feta?”

“You fucking bet,” Dean says, flushing slightly at the praise and hiding it behind his bad table manners, shoveling his food into his mouth as quickly as he can.

Sam’s staring at them again, blinking. “For real? One night and you’re both right as rain? I should have suggested a sit down months ago.”

“Bet’cha feel like an idiot now,” Dean teases, eggs falling out of his mouth.

“Can you help him with his table manners while you’re at it?” Sam groans.

“I can’t perform miracles,” Castiel says mildly, sipping his coffee.

“Worth a try,” Sam shrugs, turning back to his tablet.

Dean salutes them with his coffee. “Y’all can fuck yourselves,” he says merrily.

Castiel chuckles. “You sure about that?”

Sam barks a laugh, not looking up. “It’s too early in the morning for that.”

Dean leans further over the table, thinking to himself, _not anymore, it’s not_.


	4. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has news. Castiel has a bath.
> 
> **NSFW!**

Castiel loves nighttime. The silence, the stillness, the darkness, the more reasonable temperatures, it all suits him. Despite having been in some form of military service or law enforcement for his entire life, the dark doesn’t make him pessimistic. He never dreads the night. It frees him more completely than anything else.

Thus, he takes his evening runs as late as possible;  tonight, after ten. It’s been dark for some time, temperatures have cooled, and there’s nary a sound from the house or even the street outside of Sam’s gated grounds. His mind is just as empty. It’s perfect.

Dean usually holes up on his side of the upper floor after ten every evening, though he has been known to peek out for a midnight snack every now and then. Sam’s overworked enough that he usually turns in closer to 9:30 when his schedule allows. He tries his best to stay on a mostly normal schedule when he can. The house staff is either in bed or gone home, so that leaves Castiel to himself.

And that’s why he prefers to exercise at night when there’s no pressure on him, real or imagined. No one to answer to. No one to bother him. These hours alone testing the limits of his physical endurance are precious to him.

Back when he was deployed overseas, he’d enjoyed having the night watches the most. He’d volunteered for them when he didn’t have an early assignment the next day. His squad mates had loved him for it. They’d bribed him with all manner of comforts from home to entice him to take their shifts. He’d been reminded time and again by circumstance and superior officer alike, that nights held the most dangerous threats, but the night and stars soothed him in some measure, regardless.

However, these days, as he’d done back then, Castiel makes sure that he remains available to the outside world. On his run tonight, he’s mindful to confirm that he sets out with a full cell phone battery, just in case. He sometimes ventures off the property when he’s feeling particularly energetic. Normally he’s not interrupted, especially towards the end of his workout when it’s closer to midnight, but tonight his phone rings in his earpiece, cutting off the classical music he prefers while running.

He taps the phone strapped to his arm and puffs, “Novak.”

“Cas?” Charlie’s voice says. “Uh, you okay there? I’m not... um... _interrupting_ anything, am I?”

He chuckles breathlessly. “I wouldn’t answer the phone if I was engaged in something fun. I’m just on my run.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, relieved. “That’s good! Whew! Didn’t need that mental image. Anyway, sorry for calling so late.”

“It’s not a problem,” he reassures her, slowing his pace to a jog to recover some of his breath. “What can I do for you?”

“I got a shipment of Sam’s fan mail this evening. More than a hundred letters.”

Castiel blows a low whistle. “It’s amazing how many people still write actual letters.”

“Tell me about it,” she groans. “I’m drowning in perfumed envelopes. The interns were sorting and reading it for hours. Got a few you or Dean’ll wanna come pick up for the files.”

He slows further to a power walk. “How bad are they?”

“Well...” she hesitates, searching for the right words. “They’re not so bad by themselves. Mostly just the usual adoration and all that. It’s not the content. It’s the quantity. And the sign off.”

Anything that pings Charlie’s self-named “Creep-O-Meter” is enough for Castiel to agree immediately to have a look. “Sounds questionable, yes. How many letters? And what’s the sign off? Do we have a file for the fan yet?”

“No, but I’m scanning these and starting one that I’ll update on the shared drive. So far we’ve found thirteen letters all dated within three days of each other, but there might be more. The shipment today is just from this week. We’re still searching earlier stacks. The signature is always, ‘your loving soul, Lucifer.’ Super creepy, right?”

Castiel’s pace finally reaches a normal walk, heart rate slowing down. “Lucifer? Really?”

“I know, right?!”

“It’s definitely creepy, as you say. I’ll check the letters myself in the morning.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I probably should have waited until tomorrow, but it was making me so uneasy that I figured I’d call to give you a heads up and ease my anxiety since you’re so good at that.”

He grins while he stretches for his cooldown. “I appreciate your calling. You can do so any time you need to. It’ll be fine. None of Sam’s stalkers have ever gotten through our net before, and they’re not about to start. Dean and I will see to that. You did the right thing, as always. There’s nothing to worry about.”

He can hear the answering grin in her voice. He’s always been particularly fond of her smile. It’s contagious. “Damn right! There’s probably enough in the letters for Dean to work his magic and profile the fan. There haven’t been any weird threats on social media, but I wouldn’t recognize a similar style of writing unless he used the same words and phrases, since I’m not the psychic profiler.”

Castiel chuckles. “I’ll get to it first thing,” he promises.

“Thanks, Cas. Take care, okay?”

“You, too.” With a smile despite the iffy news, Castiel ends the call and strolls back to the house. Only a handful of the low wattage ambient lights are on to help any of them who get the urge to wander out of their rooms after dark. He crosses to the kitchen to refill his filtered water bottle, and on his way back catches sight of blue light flickering in his peripheral vision. He turns his head and spies Sam on the couch flipping through the DVR.

Trying not to startle him, Castiel steps heavily into the room. “You’re still awake?” he asks.

Sam puts his head onto the backrest, looking upside down at Castiel. “Hey, Cas,” he says. “Still doing the midnight workouts, huh?”

“If I’d known you were awake, I would have invited you,” he quips, stepping closer.

“No need to be so rude,” Sam laughs. “Nice night for it, though.”

“It’s cooling down a lot,” Castiel says idly. “My favorite time of year for running outdoors.”

“I’d rather watch the sunrise,” Sam notes, turning back to the TV.

“At this rate, you might. Is everything okay?” Castiel asks, shifting his weight, but not wanting to sit down on any of the furniture when he’s so sweaty.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam says. “Just good old fashioned insomnia. I woke up panicking that I’d forgotten something on the schedule, then remembered I was on vacation.” He chuckles. “Couldn’t get over it enough in my room to go back to sleep, so I figured I’d rot my brain for a little while.” He gestures towards the TV.

Smiling, Castiel teases, “regretting not going into law now?”

“Not even,” Sam scoffs. “I mean, sure, this is the same kind of lousy schedule, but acting’s more fun. And mostly more money.”

“A wise career move.”

“I thought so.” He eyes Castiel with a strange look for a beat. “You happy with where you’ve ended up?” Sam asks with real concern, giving Castiel his full attention while the opening credits of the latest Marvel movie begin to roll on the large screen.

Castiel is surprised by the question. “Of course I am. Did you think that I wasn’t?” He perches on the lip of the coffee table facing his friend.

Sam tilts his head from side to side in contemplation. “It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.” His lips twist wryly. “I mean, all the times we talked about your deployments and stuff, I knew you wanted out. You’d said you wanted something related to what you’d been doing without all the… well, war. And personally, I thought this job would be a great match for you. Plus, bonus having my best friend around all the time, but I know I can come on strong. I wanted to make sure you were happy living your life this way. In my house, using my cars, going where I need to when I need to. It’s a lot seeing as how you have to put my life before yours. I don’t wanna be selfish.”

Castiel’s confusion clears. Frankly, he’s touched by Sam’s concern. “I’m perfectly happy. You know me. I’m not the type to suffer in silence, nor did I have anywhere else I’d rather be. I joined the Marines out of high school because I felt like it was the only way to make something of myself. It’s not like I left anything too important to part with behind. If there was anything unsatisfactory, I would certainly tell you. Life’s too short. And, technically, you’re my boss, so I should air all of my professional grievances to you.”

Sam laughs a little at Castiel’s “life’s too short” motto. He’s been saying it for years, and after living in active war zones, he’d know the truth of the statement better than anyone. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He rolls his water bottle between his hands. “While I have no qualms talking about myself, I get the impression that you’re fishing for something else.”

“I am,” Sam confesses. Castiel has always appreciated the straightforward honesty between them. That’s one of the things that has kept their friendship more solid than any he’s ever had. Also, Sam worries about the people he cares for as much as Castiel does, and that common bond has carried them through a lot together. “Do you ever feel like you wasted that Stanford education?”

He blinks. He wasn’t expecting _that_.  “I... no, I don’t. I’m not using everything I studied, but I’m suited to this, and I like it. I had a partial scholarship to Stanford when I retired, so it seemed as good excuse as any to get a degree. Seemed like a good thing to have since I wasn’t in any particular rush to do anything else, and I wasn’t hurting for money. Do you feel like you wasted your education?”

“I have,” Sam says with a grin. “I probably should have dropped out when I signed with Crowley and found Gabe, but I decided to push through. Glad the acting paid off the debt really quickly.”

“We never would have met had you decided to drop out and pursue acting full time sooner. If you think about it, it’s fortuitous we met there at all.”

“True,” Sam muses, sinking into the couch cushions. “Some might call it an unlikely friendship.”

Castiel snorts. “Are you saying I’m too old for you?”

They both laugh. The joke is as old as their age difference. “No, I’m saying we helped each other through a lot, and I’m glad I met you.”

“Same here. It’s hard to express properly, but being your friend has changed my life in a hundred different ways. So, yes. I’m very happy.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Sam says. “That said, you fucking stink, man.”

Castiel stands, taking the cue that their late night heart to heart has concluded. “I smell like a virile man, Sam. It’s too bad you don’t appreciate that.”

“Gross,” Sam chuckles. “Virile man smells like dried sweat and B.O.”

He bows comically. “Then I shall retire to my room to shower. Good night.”

“‘Night, Cas,” Sam calls over his shoulder and turns back to the TV.

Castiel passes by Dean’s room on the way to his own and sees a sliver of light leaking out from under the door. He dithers outside for a moment. Dean is probably getting ready to go to sleep. He’d been out most of the day and come home exhausted. He probably doesn’t want the distraction so late at night. It’s rude, really.

Castiel knocks.

“Yeah!” Comes the immediate response muffled by the door.

He pushes it open and Dean is... wow. He’s stretched out on top of his comforter in a thin shirt and cotton pajama pants, lap desk holding his computer over his knees, and thick framed glasses perched on his nose. He looks relaxed and almost sleepy in the warm glow from his dim bedside lamp and flickering TV.

Castiel feels his lips part in awe at the delicious scene before him. Until now, he and Dean have really only dealt with each other during business hours. This morning was the first time they’d seen each other undressed and sleep rumbled. Castiel had thought it was the most beautiful sight ever. And that’s saying something considering how much his lack of love for mornings makes him want to burn the estate down before noon.

He’s happy to be mistaken in his assessment now. This Dean is even more lovely.

“Ground control to Major Tom,” Dean deadpans.

Once again Castiel realizes he’s overstepped common decency and is staring too much. “Apologies,” he says sheepishly. “I saw your light on, and got curious since I haven’t seen much of you today. But... it’s late, and I need to shower, so we can talk at a more reasonable time.”

His face is so hot it feels like a fever. Dear God, how does Dean keep doing this to him? He thought he was over being a bumbling mess.

Clearly he has a long way to go.

Dean shoves his laptop away. “Shower, you say? I’m listening.”

Castiel blinks. It takes a moment for his brain to gear up. He smiles. “Yes. I stink.”

“Well,” Dean drawls with that infuriatingly attractive Texas twang, “that’s what showers are for. Which I have. In this room.” He nods to the left. “Right over there.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Yes, he does. And he’s a terrible liar. Dean knows that, though.

“Then lucky for you because you’re not since I just invited you.”

He waffles between amusement and annoyance, which is so utterly common around Dean Winchester. “Dean,” he says. Just that. Just his name. It works fifty percent of the time. Backfires the other fifty. Always a crapshoot with this man. Which is a little thrilling, truth be told.

This time it works. Dean rolls his eyes and then rolls off the bed. And Castiel ogles him openly as he approaches because that bowlegged swagger gets him in the gut every time. He stops short of touching. “Just offering,” he murmurs. “Y’know, since you’ve had a long day, busy morning-” Castiel rolls his eyes at that, “-then a long run. Must be tired. If ya need some help...”

“Hmm,” Castiel hums, grin unfurling at the same rate as the warmth in his chest, “I suppose you’re right. My shoulders have been feeling a little stiff as well. I don’t suppose I might be able to talk you into a nice massage? I recall you bragging at one point about being good at them.”

He’ll never get over how easily his innuendos slide under Dean’s skin. Those uncanny green eyes darken and Dean licks his lips. “Sounds like a party.”

“You should get the water going, then,” Castiel says lazily. “And I’ll go get rid of these disgusting clothes.”

Now that they’ve agreed on a primarily dominant/submissive relationship, Castiel has been testing the waters, so to speak. Seeing how Dean turns his role off and on. Castiel himself recognizes that a lot of their conflict doesn’t simply stem from differing approaches to the job, and life in general. It’s also because they both have dominant personalities out in the world that can become quite abrasive to each other. The difference is that Dean is showing a deep seated desire to be able to give up the fight every now and then. And praise clearly affects him much more deeply than it does Castiel.

They haven’t done much yet, but Castiel has the impression that Dean Winchester is going to be totally different from any sub he’s had before. It thrills him like little else has in a very long time.

He’s also enjoying the small tests to see how obvious he has to be in his commands. If there’s a hard line on the D/s being for sex only, or if he might respond similarly in other situations and the gray areas. Other times when they’re alone. He’d been prickly about it this morning, but that could have been because Sam had been present.

Right now, though, he’s giving Castiel an intriguing look. His eyebrow is arched like he wants to make some snarky remark, but he’s not saying anything, which is far more compelling. And he probably doesn’t even realize it, but the open stance, shoulders slightly curved, chin tilted towards him, is quite submissive.

“You mentioned so many details of my tough day,” Castiel says affectionately. “Is it so hard to believe I’d whine for a bit of pampering? From you, especially.”

“Nah, you’re right,” Dean relents.

Very interesting, indeed. Castiel watches closely at Dean’s reaction as he says, “nothing would make me happier today than being pampered by you.” As he’d hoped, Dean’s eyes shine with the prospect of pleasing him. His whole face eases into a beautiful smile. Without another word, Dean turns and goes to the bathroom.

Heart singing with happiness, Castiel actually jogs out of the room and down the hall to retrieve a comfortable set of pajamas. He’s back in Dean’s room in minutes, locking the door behind him and stripping down. The water is running in the bathroom and he steps into a cloud of steam and the shower running as well as the taps for the large claw foot soaking tub.

“A bath?” he asks.

“Good to ease the muscles,” Dean says. “Go wash off the grime and the tub should be ready by then.”

Trust Dean to go the extra mile. Besides, Castiel wasn’t lying about being sore. He’d pushed himself extra hard, and despite stretching before and after, he is slightly achy. He hops into the shower without another thought, not bothering to close the glass door as he giddily uses Dean’s soap and shampoo. It’s a little thing, but he’ll enjoy the lingering scent of Dean on him all night.

Sam had spared no expense in remodeling this bathroom when they’d moved in. He’d allowed both Dean and Castiel to choose one of the rooms they’d claimed for a full revamp, no questions asked, no penny saved. It had been his concession to having his brother and best friend living with him in his large home. He wanted them to feel truly _at_ home. Dean had chosen his bathroom, and Castiel had chosen the spare room connected to his bedroom to turn into a workout room to rival any fitness center.

He’s having second thoughts about that decision now. Dean had turned his bathroom into a near-literal oasis. Waterfall steam shower, heated stone floors, soaker tub, infinity sinks, warming towel cabinet, the works. Castiel is already feeling relaxed when he’s done with the shower.

Dean is by the tub stirring the water with something that’s turned it milky green and smells strongly of tea. “Hop on in, hot stuff,” Dean winks.

Grinning, Castiel saunters over, letting Dean’s hungry gaze sweep over him. Castiel has always had physically demanding jobs, so has never let his body go to seed. He’d never say it out loud, but he knows he looks good, and he’s quite vain about it. He drops into the tub with a sighing groan.

“I know!” Dean enthuses at his reaction. “Green tea onsen salts imported from Japan. Sam got me like, hundreds of packs for Christmas last year. Awesome, am I right? I’ve got about a dozen different scents, but this one’s my personal favorite.”

“It’s lovely, thank you for sharing,” Castiel says, oddly touched at the gesture. Then he yawns. “If I fall asleep, don’t let me drown.”

“Nah, you’re been too nice to me today for that,” Dean laughs.

Castiel shuts his eyes, content to drift in the bath, considering it plenty in the way of pampering, but then... _then_. Dean moves behind him and actually starts massaging his shoulders. And he’s _good_ at it. For once, it hadn’t been a boast for the sake of his ego. The bath salts have a bit of essential oils mixed in, and they add just enough lubrication to his skin that it doesn’t chafe when Dean digs his fingers into the tight muscles. The undignified whimper that escapes Castiel’s lips is close to embarrassing, but it’s _so good_.

“Like that?” Dean murmurs into his ear.

“I’ve never felt better in my life,” Castiel mumbles rapturously.

Dean kisses the side of his neck in answer. It lingers just long enough for Castiel to know that Dean’s extremely pleased with the compliment. “I learned from an actual masseuse I dated back in the day. And yes, whatever you’re imagining, really did happen.”

Castiel chuckles softly. “You certainly do enjoy bragging about your sexual exploits. What if I was the jealous type?”

“You’re not the jealous type,” Dean scoffs, working his fingers into a deadly scalp massage. “I don’t think it’s in you. Plus, you’re getting all the benefits of my experiences, so quit your bitching.”

Usually, Dean would be right. Jealousy isn’t in him. However... His arm shoots out before Dean can react, grabbing his wrist and yanking him closer. Dean over balances and his chest smashes into Castiel’s; upper body getting soaked with perfumed water. He’s too surprised to react with anger, eyes wide with a flash of... yes, that’s anticipation.

Castiel wants to smile at it, but he doesn’t. He needs Dean to understand this feeling he has. “I don’t know whether you bring out the best or the worst in me.”

“Then don’t do this with anyone else,” Dean whispers, throwing himself forward for a kiss.

The embrace is as big a revelation as it had been the first time. Castiel recognizes that he has the control in their dynamic, but not the power. It’s Dean with his straightforward attitude towards sex. His lack of shame in expressing his desires. His trust in Castiel to see them through where his expertise is lacking. He can’t do anything besides give the man what he’s asking for. Because at his core, Dean wants to give and Castiel wants to take.

Water sloshes onto the stone tiles as Castiel hauls Dean into his arms, and he climbs into the tub, clothes and all.

Castiel laughs delightedly at Dean making a soaked squish we he brings their bodies together. “I adore the eagerness, but it might be a hindrance here.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says distractedly, lips exploring the strong column of Castiel’s throat.

“I’ve created a monster,” Castiel chides, though he’s far from displeased by the turn of events. He wants nothing more than Dean eager in his arms. No one’s ever been quite as openly enthusiastic for his affection before. And if someone had told him even a week ago that it would be Dean Winchester on his knees begging for an orgasm from him, he wouldn’t have believed them.

He loves pleasant surprises.

But the niggling in the back of his mind compels him to take Dean’s face in his hands to pull his attention. It takes a moment for Dean to refocus. A questioning look clouds his eyes. Castiel strokes over his cheekbones. “I’d never do this with anyone else while I’m with you,” he says.

Dean smiles, mirroring Castiel’s caress. “You’re kind of a sap, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Castiel chuckles. “Must be the bad you’re bringing out in me.”

“You need it,” Dean says. “You see how easy going you are right now?”

His smile can only grow. “Nice try, but I’m still going to adhere to the rules.”

“No shit,” Dean snorts. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I’m glad you have.”

Then it’s enough talking for the time being. Dean spreads himself over Castiel’s body, heedless of the mess they’re making or the fact that neither of them have made a single move to take off any of Dean’s clothes. Castiel reaches out to at least strip off his shirt, but Dean bats him away. “Said I was gonna pamper you, didn’t I?”

Castiel arches an elegant eyebrow. “Did you?”

Dean’s hands dip under the water, left hand palming over Castiel’s hip, right hand thumbing over the head of Castiel’s half hard cock.

Hissing through his teeth at the lovely contact, Castiel gasps, “you’re very thorough.”

“And really good at handjobs,” Dean grins, twisting his wrist on the upstroke.

Castiel’s body nearly comes out of the water completely. He’d been so unprepared for this, that he’s in danger of coming in ten seconds. “Don’t stop,” he demands.

Dean continues his maddening ministrations as he moves in for another kiss. Deep, filthy, making it so Castiel never wants it to stop. He’s always been terribly sensitive to sexual stimulation. It’s rarely been a problem since being a Dom has helped him immeasurably with control over his mind and body, but when he hasn’t slipped into the mentality, he’s just Castiel Novak: Two Minute Miracle Man.

Which Dean seems to find great humor in, rather than disgust. “Had no idea you were so sensitive,” he drawls against Castiel’s neck, leaving a small bite in his wake as he moves along Castiel’s skin with his sinful mouth.

Castiel thrusts his hips in time with Dean’s movements. “You caught me by surprise.”

“It’s awesome. Wanna make you come so damn bad.”

That won’t be a problem. It isn’t a problem. Sooner rather than later, Castiel feels his balls begin to tighten, heat rushing from his spine to ignite in his chest. “Oh, Dean!” he gasps.

At least Dean’s good at reading people. He has the hem of his wet t-shirt covering Castiel’s cock with no time to spare, catching his release while his lips drink in Castiel’s cries of pleasure. And when he draws away, all that Castiel can do is blink at him blearily and hope Dean wasn’t timing the experience. It might have been his quickest yet.

“So fucking sexy,” Dean breathes, stripping his waterlogged shirt over his head.

“I’m glad you think so,” Castiel smiles, warm with the compliment. “I’m usually much better behaved, but when I’m unprepared for it, I can be a bit of an embarrassment.”

Dean scowls, kissing Castiel again, hard and chase. “Don’t say that. I think it’s hot. And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

Castiel adds a kiss of his own. “I agree.”

He’s fairly certain that he and Dean have ridiculous smiles on their faces staring at each other. Everything about them being together is strange and alluring.

He clears his throat to bring them back. “We should get out now. The water’s getting cold.”

With a bit of difficulty, Dean scrambles out of the tub, looking quite like a drowned cat with his sopping clothes dripping all over the floor. “This was not the best idea I’ve ever had,” he says sheepishly, wringing out his shirt over the draining tub while Castiel goes to the cabinet to get them towels.

“It’s true that shower and tub sex are much better in theory than in practice.”

“That just means you ain’t bendy enough,” Dean sasses, sauntering over completely nude, proud of it, and perfectly aware of how his bowlegs affect Castiel.

It’s a lot. They affect him a lot.

But there are two people here. And both of them can play the game. Castiel offers out one of the towels, casual as you please and says lightly, “you’ll regret saying that one day.” And then turns on his heel, his own towel slung over his shoulders, stretches his loosened muscles just for show, and disappears into the bedroom.

Of course, he also has excellent hearing, so he catches Dean’s muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

It feels good.

He’s fully dressed, lounging on Dean’s bed when the man of the hour makes an appearance, also clothed now. Slight pity, but it’s chilly in the room.

“So,” Dean says conversationally, “did ya come visit for a bath and a massage, or was there something else?”

There is something else that can wait until tomorrow, and he is loath to ruin the rest of Dean’s night. But Dean’s tone suggests he’s expecting a proverbial shoe to drop.

So he does it. “Charlie called a while ago.”

Dean frowns. “I hate it when she calls after hours.”

“It can wait until morning.” But he half hopes Dean will decide to ask for the details tonight because perhaps warm and comfortable, he’ll take it better. Plus, Castiel can be there for him on a more personal level if they’re not running the risk of Sam being around to interrupt.

Thankfully, Dean flops into the bed, shoulder to shoulder with him. “Might as well tell me now. I’ll just worry all night, otherwise.”

Castiel nods, trying not to let his expression become as grave as it usually does. Dean’s sensitive to those sorts of things and will draw on the mood presented to him.

“She’ll be forwarding us an email about it soon, but it appears as though Sam has a new stalker by the handle ‘Lucifer’ who has sent numerous letters through the mail in the past weeks. More than enough to ping her radar. She’s uncertain if there has been contact on any of the social media accounts. If so, the person is going by a different name.”

“Huh,” Dean huffs, deflating a little and resting heavier against Castiel. This is also a surprise to him because Dean’s never shown himself to be much of a cuddler. Not like he’d know personally, but Dean has always appeared to be more into casual touches than anything else. The times he’d seen Dean and Cassie together, there’d been little PDA beyond an errant brush of hands every now and then.

Hesitantly, Castiel digs his arm out from between them and drapes it over Dean’s shoulder, gently inviting him closer, loose enough that he can be shrugged off easily. To his great astonishment, Dean complies, sliding down further and tucking his head into Castiel’s neck. “I take it she wants me to see if I can profile the asshat.”

“She does,” Castiel confirms, sifting his fingers through the soft hair on top of Dean’s head. If possible, Dean melts into him even more. It’s... wonderful. He tries not to think about the last time he cuddled someone outside of aftercare. The length of time would probably only depress him.

“I’ll do what I can,” Dean says with a hint of doubt sneaking into his voice.

Castiel hates that. But he can help here, too. “You’re the strongest profiler the city had when you were on the force.”

“Some things just make sense to me.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s incredibly useful,” Castiel praises lightly. “I’ve never been able to see the patterns that you do.”

“Ain’t that hard,” Dean mutters. “People aren’t as original as they like to think they are.”

“Well, yes, but this one isn’t bothering to hide at all.” Dean tenses against him, and Castiel soothes him by stroking his hand down his neck, over his shoulder in a facsimile of the massage that Dean had given him earlier. “Charlie assures me that the content of the letters isn’t more concerning than what we’ve seen from other people before. She’s more worried about the quantity.”

“We’ll handle it,” Dean says firmly.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees.

They fall into silence then. Castiel is almost afraid to breathe too hard, lest the moment shatter and escape him. He knows that Dean considers his softer side to be something of a weakness. Castiel understands that. But it’s a shame, if this is how it really is. Of course, he wonders if Dean’s willingness to fully let his guard down now is because he views Castiel as strong enough to take up the slack. Or at least not judge him for it.

He can. And he doesn’t judge. He wants to be everything that Dean needs. The realization startles him. His affection isn’t new, but the depth of it now that he’s allowed to explore it, is.

They’re quiet for so long in each other’s arms that Castiel’s eyes drift shut, and he thinks Dean has fallen asleep, until he murmurs, “thanks, Cas.”

Castiel blinks awake, then without asking whether Dean wishes for him to stay or go, reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp. “For what?”

Dean burrows down, cheek now resting over Castiel’s heart once they resettle. “This.”

Castiel smiles into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has an actual good morning. The Winchester family goes to the beach.  
>  **NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I can't go a single chapter without writing smut! 
> 
> **Chapter tags:**  
>  Bottom Castiel (I was asked very nicely to tag positions since they switch so y'all can skip over ones you don't like, if it matters to you!)  
> Light Immobilization (wrist pinning)  
> Gratuitous Canon Quoting

The second time waking up in each other’s arms is just as intriguing as the first. Castiel drifts into consciousness, not opening his eyes, taking stock of the sensations around him. And, _oh_ it’s a beautiful feeling, indeed. He’s lying on his side, facing away from the window, back pressed to Dean’s broad chest. The man is a space heater. He radiates body heat from back to legs. His arm is heavy flung over Castiel’s waist, but a comforting weight, rather than a vise. He glances at the clock and sees that it’s only 3:00 am.

He has no idea what woke him, as the room is completely silent, even Dean’s quiet breath against the back of his neck.

Normally, he’d be pissed that he woke up for no reason, however tonight, he’s struck with a wicked idea that inspires him to carefully slip out of bed without waking Dean, make a trip to his bedroom, and return to Dean’s welcoming arms with his sleeping lover none the wiser of his departure. It takes him a long time to resettle. He shifts back to his original position, but it’s no longer comfortable. It’s hard for him to unwind again. Loosen his muscles. It’s not enough just deep breathing. He kicks his feet out, rubbing them against the silky-feeling high thread count sheets. The jitters won’t go away. He should never have left the bed.

An arm sneaks over his waist again, dragging him close without preamble. Castiel marvels that Dean’s incredibly strong even when nearly asleep still. A soft pair of lips presses into the back of his neck. “Sleep,” Dean mumbles.

Castiel relaxes into Dean’s chest again, the heat from the man’s body loosening his tension for some reason. It’s so nice. Dean being taller than him makes him a lovely big spoon. It’s probably been a decade since Castiel has slept with someone taller than him, not counting the times he and Sam had passed out together on one pull out couch or another after a particularly epic collegiate kegger. Naturally, this is entirely different. Sooner than expected, Castiel is asleep again to pleasant dreams of kissing Dean somewhere it’s summer.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

As expected, Dean is the first one to wake up once the sun has risen. And since he’s not yet used to having someone else in the bed with him, he has no decency to try and avoid waking his bedmate. Which is fine this morning, because it’s exactly what Castiel wants. He wants to not hate mornings every now and then. Therefore, he shuffles under the covers until he’s facing Dean who is busy jostling them both with a satisfying-looking fully body stretch. He’s also smiling like he enjoys seeing Castiel’s disheveled grump. “‘Mornin,” he drawls, probably smug about pissing Castiel off without consequences since it’s so early.

Truthfully, it would probably work any other day.

“It’s amazing to me how you’re able to take up the entirety of a king sized bed,” Castiel admonishes, despite his plan to start the day off better.

“You curl up like a cat,” Dean retorts.

Castiel lazily rolls himself on top of Dean, humming low - the closest he can get to an actual purr - nuzzling over Dean’s beautifully freckled skin. Predictably, Dean’s morning cheer is heightened by the silly attention, chuckle rumbling in his chest hoarsely. He loops his arms loosely around Castiel’s shoulders just in case he decides to remember himself after all and decide against the nice wakeup call. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Not this morning.

He stretches out half on Dean, pressing him onto his back and kissing him thoroughly. Dean, probably confused, takes a moment to react. However, when he does, it’s with unbridled enthusiasm, like he can’t believe his good fortune. Castiel understands the sentiment. Dean’s hands roam freely... for a time.

Castiel lets Dean get comfortable, excited, expectant, and then pinned. Castiel sits up abruptly, straddles Dean’s chest, and then grabs his wrists, jerking his arms over his head, and pressing them to the pillow.

Dean’s eyes widen with shock, followed by lust. “You haven’t even had coffee,” he grins wolfishly.

“Then perhaps you should give me something better. If you’ve got anything better, that is.”

Dean thrusts his hips up, but Castiel is sitting too high on his belly for him to catch any friction whatsoever.

Castiel’s eyebrow tips up. “Is there something you would like, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean whines, wiggling and squirming, but Castiel is strong enough to keep him secured exactly where he wants him just by squeezing his thighs tightly against Dean’s ribs.

“What would you like, Dean? Ask nicely. You know how I am this early.”

His syrupy commanding tone stills Dean momentarily. He stops moving, muscles melting to softness. “Gonna be honest, man, I got like, a million fantasies going through my head right now. Never thought you’d wanna have wakeup sex. And it’s my absolute favorite. This is like Christmas morning for me.”

Castiel smiles teasingly. “Oh? Then shall I give you a gift? That’s what loved ones do on Christmas morning, correct?”

He can see the warring expressions flickering over Dean’s face rapidly. He’s not sure whether there’s a trap here, or a real gift. Castiel can’t blame him. He really _is_ a piece of shit in the morning. But it’s not Halloween, so there’s no trick to the treat. He’ll just have to prove it and let Dean have his present. He licks his bottom lip and asks, “may I unwrap you first?”

Chuckling, Dean says, “considering my hands are tied, so to speak, you might as well.”

Even Castiel laughs at that. He slides his palms down Dean’s bare arms, eliciting a shudder, and he continues his path over his chest to his stomach, and then sweeps up under the hem of his t-shirt.

Dean’s lean muscles on display are exquisite. Castiel wants to memorize the shape of all of them. Bite all of his freckles that stand out wonderfully when his tanned skin is flushed with pleasure. “Such a lovely gift,” he murmurs. He lifts himself up on his knees just far enough to be able to push Dean’s pajama pants down. Dean helps by using his toes to grab them and kick them away off the bed with his boxers. “My turn.”

He lifts his arms and Dean eagerly strips him of his shirt. But Castiel doesn’t give him a chance to take off his boxers. He does it himself on his hands and knees and then resettles. His naked weight on Dean’s hips makes the man’s cock bob up to the cleft of his ass.

Castiel smirks.

Dean freezes.

“Go ahead,” Castiel encourages.

Dean reaches around to touch. “Whoa, Cas... oh, holy _shit_ , is this...?”

“Just for you,” Castiel rumbles, gyrating his hips to move Dean’s finger around the silicone stopper.

Dean trembles from head to toe. “When did you..?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and I saw you sleeping, and I decided that you deserved this. You deserve _me_. I want to ride you, Dean. Make you come. Make me forget about how fucking awful this godforsaken time of the morning is. Will you let me? Will you let me have you?”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes several times. He nods frantically. “Yeah, Cas. Fuck, yeah.”

Castiel shimmies his hips down. “Take the plug out, Dean.” He arches his back, pressing his hips more firmly against Dean’s. “Make me _feel_ it.”

Immediately, Dean’s circling finger stops dead center of the plug’s stopper. He presses against it, the plug shoving in deeper against Castiel’s prostate. They moan in tandem.

Dean carefully grasps the edges and begins to work it out slowly, very gently jiggling it from side to side until Castiel’s internal muscles unclench enough for it to begin to slide out. All the air puffs out of Dean’s lungs. Castiel strokes into Dean’s hair, hanging on for dear life, confident that he won’t cause Dean any pain that he doesn’t fully appreciate. If Dean arching his neck up with a breathy moan is any indication, he’d be happy for more. And if he keeps on being so amazing, he’ll earn _plenty_ more.

He can barely feel the plug slipping out of his body thanks to Dean’s meticulous care. But every so often, he thrusts it back in partway, or twists it enough that it sends sparks lighting through Castiel. He can’t get used to it to find his equilibrium. Dean is expertly keeping him fully aroused and on the edge every second. It’s perfect. Dean knows how to comply and then go several levels beyond what’s expected. He’s a natural at being a sub, regardless of his attitude outside of the bedroom. He takes so much pleasure from being able to please. Loves giving pleasure as much as receiving it. In that regard, he’s the same as Castiel. It’s unselfish, and that makes it feel so pure.

He loses track of how long Dean carries on with his torture before he gives one prolonged tug and the plug comes out, suddenly leaving him feel quite empty.

Dean gulps. His voice is a thready whisper when he says, “hey, did you bring... uh, I don’t have...”

Castiel leans towards Dean’s bedside table where he left the bottle of lube and condoms. “I wouldn’t let us fall short of the goal.”

Dean beams and breathes, “thank God.”

Castiel purposefully unwraps the condom and rolls it down over Dean’s dick. Conversationally he says, “I’ll prove to you as much as I must that I’ll take care of you like this. Always.”

Dean doesn’t answer directly, but the relief is there plain on his face. He watches Castiel slick the condom with lube and then reach behind himself to prep a little further. It’s perfunctory, but watching Dean watch him is a highly effective turn on. In fact, he’s in danger of slipping the leash of his control again, so spends less time than normal with it. It’s good enough. When he raises up on his knees, Dean palms at Castiel’s waist, bracing him.

Castiel smiles. “Do you trust me with the next step?”

Dean blinks at him owlishly. He understands how much bigger the question is than just the surface words. He’s always been brilliant at reading people. “I trust you,” he says resolutely.

Pleased beyond belief, Castiel leans forward, firmly removes Dean’s hands from his hips, threads their fingers together, and shoves Dean’s arms over his head again, pinning him one handed. His free hand takes the base of Dean’s cock to steady it. He guides himself down, stretching himself on Dean’s dick. The sound that Dean makes is insanely hot.

His weight is halfway resting in Dean’s lap when he’s comfortable releasing the base of Dean’s dick to pin him arms properly. It changes the angle enough that he can move with satisfyingly teasing thrusts.

“Fuck!” Dean gasps.

“Hold still,” Castiel commands trying his best to keep the wobbling out of his voice. “I asked if you trusted me with this, and you said yes. Was that a lie?” He punctuates the question with a hard grind down.

Dean moans gorgeously. “No! No it wasn’t, Cas I swear!”

“Good,” Castiel says soothingly. “Let me do this for you, Dean. Behave for me.”

Dean’s body shakes with tension, goosebumps rising on his skin, but he does as he’s told. He tries so hard. It feels so amazing when he does. Dean puts all of himself into the things and people he cares about. Castiel recognizes this relationship between them for what it is. That Dean’s trying so hard to do something that doesn’t come naturally to him, but that he craves _so deeply_. It’s endlessly humbling, and this is the only way that Castiel knows how to show him how much he appreciates it. How touched he is.

The stretch of Dean’s cock inside him burns a little thanks to the hasty prep, but he’s not in any danger of injury. He’s quite experienced at being on bottom, and often enjoys the challenge. Dean fills him magnificently, and by the time he’s fully seated in the man’s lap, it’s practically heaven. “Ah,” Castiel sighs. “How does it feel for you?”

Dean’s teeth squeak with the effort to pry his jaw open. “Unreal. Tight. Hot.”

Wonderful. Castiel doesn’t give Dean any time to collect himself. He braces his weight on Dean’s wrists, allowing his lower body free rein to thrust back and forth in an exploratory movement. The downward stroke impales him deeply.

Dean releases a sobbing moan and Castiel drinks it straight out of his mouth. He feels exactly the same. And he wants all of it. He wants to see how much his control will be challenged by this infuriating, incomparable man. How far he can take him. How deep they can both go.

The heat coursing through him with every rich thrust warns him that the depth may not be recoverable after a while. It should unsettle him, but he peers down at Dean, sweating and moaning and _taking_ it, and instead of being scared, Castiel fervently prays that he’s allowed to drown in this endlessly someday.

“You’re holding back,” he murmurs in wonder.

“Gotta,” Dean admits in a burst of breath. “For you... gotta...”

Castiel releases Dean’s hands and slaps his palms down against his chest, blunt nails digging into his pecs. Dean cries out at the rough contact, throwing his head back.

Castiel shifts up just enough to change the angle, and _right_ _there!_ Every grind down brushes Dean’s dick against his prostate, forcing him higher and higher. So much for holding back, but now is not the time to leave his lover suffering.

Harder and faster until he feels his core begin to tighten, nerves awash is ecstasy. With hard pressure, he drags his nails down Dean’s chest to his abs. The responding loud moan sends Castiel over the edge. He comes in stripes over the red marks he’s left behind on Dean’s skin.

Dean’s body seizes and he grapples at Castiel’s shoulders as his dick pulses inside of Castiel’s heat and he fills the condom. He pants through it, only able to relax in stages, clinging to Castiel as Castiel does to him.

The sun is fully up, blinding through the window by the time they’re able to extricate themselves and clean up. They shower together lazily, trading kisses and washing each other and themselves.

“On a scale of one to ten, how do mornings fare for you now?” Dean asks, guiding Castiel under the waterfall to rinse off.

“Zero,” Castiel says immediately. “Less than zero. Absolute zero. But today...” He steps back into Dean’s arms once clean. Kisses him long and leisurely. “One. Maybe a one and a half.”

Dean bursts out a laugh. “Man, tough crowd.”

“You _really_ don’t understand how fully I protest mornings. A one is the best compliment anyone could possibly get from me on this matter.”

“I’m starting to get it,” Dean says. He presses a complicated series of buttons on the wall, and the shower turns off.

Dried and dressed, they make their way downstairs. Sam is in the kitchen chugging a bottle of water in his exercise clothes. “‘Morning,” he greets them both. Then he eyes them. “Going somewhere? I thought we were on vacation.”

Smoothly, Castiel prevents Dean from having to lie much, and says, “Charlie called. She has your latest shipment of fan mail and vetted gifts. I’m going to pick them up along with what she called, ‘a metric shit ton of headshots to sign.’ So much for not working on your vacation.”

Sam shrugs with a boyish grin. “I don’t mind signing autographs for the fans who take the time to write actual letters. I can do it watching TV or something. No big deal.” He turns to his brother. “Where are you off to, then?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “Nowhere, I take it?”

“No, I can do this errand on my own,” Castiel confirms. “Sam, is there anywhere you’d like to go today?”

“Hell, no,” Sam answers decisively. “I’m committed to sitting on my ass for a few more days.”

“I’m cool with it,” Dean says. “But maybe we could take Baby out for a spin later? She doesn’t get much road time these days.”

Sam’s eyes light up with excitement. “The beach!” he exclaims, instantly a changed man from his dedication to being a couch potato.

“Isn’t it a little cold this time of year for that?” Castiel asks.

Sam and Dean scoff in unison. Sam claps his best friend on the shoulder. “Dude, you need to learn some lessons about enjoying the finer things in life when you’ve got the time to do it.”

“The song of our childhood,” Dean chuckles.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says, squinting.

“We moved around a lot,” Dean qualifies. “Sam told you about that right?” When Castiel nods, he continues, “well, we never stayed in one place for long. Always on the move. So, when we found a few hours to ourselves, Sammy ‘n me’d take the Impala all over the place and explore. Hell, we went everywhere in that car. Once we even took off for two weeks down Route 66 and beyond over the summer, just to do it.”

Sam’s nodding along eagerly. “It was pretty awesome. With my schedule these days, it’s kinda like harkening back to the good old days. It’s nostalgic.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Then... I suppose I should leave you to it. There’s plenty of work I could-”

“No way!” Sam interrupts at the same time Dean says, “Dude, no!”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “You don’t prefer to go on your own like you used to?”

Grimy as he is post workout, Sam drops an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “You’re part of the family now. Gotta deal with that.”

Castiel looks from brother to brother, both of them with equally bright smiles lighting their faces. A strange sensation comes over him just then. Bathing in the warm acceptance of the Winchesters is something that he hasn’t experienced since he first met Sam when he was a man out of place; nearly ten years older than the rest of the freshman at Stanford. Sam had plopped his substantial frame into the plastic chair opposite Castiel in the cafeteria and introduced himself. And after he’d learned his name (and then subsequently asked all about its meaning and then all about angels) he’d doggedly counted them as best friends until Castiel had given in and accepted it.

He’d been right.

Castiel feels his face pulling up into a truly genuine smile. “I suppose I could be persuaded to freeze my ass off at the beach for a little while.”

Sam and Dean high five like they’ve won the World Series. “Better get going then,” Sam nudges Castiel towards the garage. “Takes a couple hours to get there. Dean and I will load up the cooler and we can leave when you get back from Charlie’s. Ask if she wants to come, too!”

“Hundred bucks says she can’t be without proper Wi-Fi for that long,” Dean counters.

Sam holds out his hand.

Dean shakes it.

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m leaving now.”

He grabs his keys from the hook by the door and doesn’t waste another moment. He’s never been one to lounge around doing nothing - that’s why he’s never actually been on vacation to the beach - but he’s actually looking forward to it. Somehow, the Winchester brothers make even idleness worthwhile.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

As predicted, Charlie gracefully turns down the offer, making Dean a hundred dollars richer, but then they’re off down the highway, headed east. Castiel sprawls in the backseat, comfortable in worn in jeans and long sleeved t-shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, window partway down to feel the breeze as Dean speeds them towards their destination. It’s cool, but now that it’s getting towards noon, the sun is quite warm, not a cloud in the sky. Classic rock blasts through the stereo, and Sam and Dean pass beef jerky between them with smiles unwavering from their faces. None of them talk, but that just makes the trip all the more comfortable with simple companionship.

The beach itself is almost entirely deserted thanks to it being a work day in the middle of the week. Castiel helps haul the blankets and cooler down through the dunes to a nice alcove tucked into the hill to buffer the wind. It’s nice enough in the sun that they can stash their hoodies and bask in the sun in their t-shirts.

“The ocean looks bigger than I thought it would,” Castiel muses next to Sam on the blanket, watching Dean set up the small charcoal grill several feet away.

“You’ve really never been?” Sam asks. “It’s only two hours from the house.”

Castiel smile wryly. “You know me. I don’t go anywhere without a reason, and I’ve never lived in a coastal state before now.”

“Relaxation _is_ a reason,” Sam protests. “Everyone’s noticed how tightly wound you get. Gabe said you’re so tense, if you shoved coal up your ass, it’d come out a diamond.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Dean cuts in, falling to the blanket next to his brother. “Don’t worry, Cas, I think your ass is plenty loose!”

Castiel scowls, and Sam laughs, “don’t be gross, Dean. It’s too nice a day.”

Dean winks over the top of his sunglasses unrepentantly, digging his toes into the sand. “If you don’t wanna hear my lewd comments, you can go start the fire for the hotdogs.”

“You’ll let me get anywhere near the grill?”

Dean drops to his back, starfishing. “I’m feeling generous.”

Sam scrambles up, dragging the cooler. “No backseat grilling!” He calls over his shoulder.

Dean gives him a thumbs up, obviously finding laziness more critical than Sam burning their lunch. Closes his eyes to the sound of the waves.

“We should talk,” Castiel says, just barely loud enough to be heard over the ocean breeze.

Dean doesn’t even bother to look at him. “No shop talk on the beach,” he says idly.

“About us,” Castiel clarifies.

Dean turns his head, peeking up. He looks calm enough, so Castiel presses on.

“What should we say to Sam?”

“Nothing,” Dean says immediately.

Castiel slides his sunglasses up his forehead, something ugly starting to worm its way into his stomach. “Why not?”

Dean pushes up to his elbows. “Are you kidding me?”

He’d promised to be in a good mood today, but the oily sensation is pulling out a frown. “No.”

Dean knocks his own glasses up to make sure that Castiel gets an uninterrupted view of his dubious expression. “Because you know Sam almost as well as I do.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, annoyed. “That’s why I’m suggesting we say something. He won’t react poorly.”

“He sure as shit will,” Dean answers shortly.

“He’s very open minded,” Castiel shoots back, now annoyed and angry on Sam’s behalf. “And he’s also bisexual, so he can hardly be bi-phobic.”

Dean sits up properly and scoots closer, dropping his voice. And since they’re facing each other, thus blocking Sam’s view of their hands, he risks quickly raising Castiel’s knuckles to his lips, giving them a small kiss and dropping them. The ugliness inside Castiel is slightly placated. “Ain’t about that,” he murmurs.

“Then why?” he asks equally as soft, pleading.

Dean glances over his shoulder. Sam has abandoned his post to run towards the surf where a little girl is throwing a tennis ball into the small breaking waves for a huge, affectionate golden retriever while her parents stroll leisurely at the edge of the water line. He’s always been a sucker for dogs. Especially ones accompanied by enthusiastic preschool-aged kids while their parents watch on, laughing. He’s got the same energy as a five year-old. “Like you said,” Dean answers finally. “We know Sam really well. He’ll worry too much about how it might upset the work/life balance.”

In a split second, all of Castiel’s consternation evaporates. He should have thought of that. He should have known. Of course he’d thought of the challenges to their work; they’d talked about that much, but Sam... he’d worry about his _family_ breaking up, not just his brother and best friend breaking up. They know how fragile families can be. No wonder Dean suspects that Sam would try anything to prevent that from happening again. Especially after they’d worked so hard to build a new one. That’s Sam Winchester’s charm. “We’re doing a monumentally stupid thing,” he says, the words hurting.

Dean steals a swift, hard kiss. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.”

Castiel smiles fondly. “You’ve always been the risk taker.”

Dean’s gaze drops to the plaid pattern on the blanket. “This is a good risk.”

“High stakes,” Castiel returns gently.

“I’m good at gambling.”

The subtle fire in his words calms Castiel. He believes Dean. “Then I’ll trust your judgement here. I don’t want Sam to tell us to stop. I would understand his reasons, and furthermore, I’d agree with them. But, Dean, I...” He can’t stop the helpless feeling. As much as he wants to, Dean is the strong one here and now.

“I know,” Dean answers, a wealth of emotion etched into the lines of his face. “But this is about you and me. No one else. So until there’s a more solid foundation, we keep it between us and keep our heads. That’s the deal. As long as we can separate the job and our personal lives, it’s on.”

“I understand.” He does. It’s about Sam as much as it is them. And Sam is more important to both of them than their sex lives. It isn’t any other job that they could just walk away from at any time. It’s Dean’s brother. Castiel’s best friend. They won’t let him down.

It doesn’t sit entirely well with him that Sam is to be left in the dark, but the way he acts so overjoyed at there being less tension between them, both of them can admit that so far, their new relationship has had nothing but a positive impact so far.

The hotdogs are a little singed since Sam was distracted by the dog, and Castiel and Dean by their heart to heart, but that’s nothing a little ketchup and mustard can’t fix. The rest of the afternoon is pleasant enough. They talk, have an interestingly rough game of Frisbee, drink all the beer in the cooler, and discover that the water is too cold to even wade in. They’re sandy and sunburned and quiet again on the drive home.

They dump the supplies in the garage, too tired to clean anything out tonight. Sam says goodnight and goes straight to his room, leaving Castiel and Dean in the kitchen.

“Did I make you mad earlier?” Dean ventures once he’s sure they’re alone.

“No,” Castiel answers, finally able to give in and stroke his fingers over Dean’s face. “I’m sorry have to keep everything a secret, but it doesn’t upset me that we need to. I don’t like secrets, but obviously I understand the necessity sometimes. I’ve kept plenty. Just... can we at least promise each other that there won’t be any between us? Not in work, not in life. Nothing good can come of them.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes like he hasn’t even considered doing the alternative. It’s extremely encouraging. “Nothing like that between you and me. I promise.”

Castiel brings their foreheads together, and they rest together for a moment, sharing it.

“Sucks lying to Sammy, you’re right,” Dean says, looking as down about it as Castiel feels. He watches his hands stroking from Castiel’s face to his neck, lightly tracing the shape of the V-neck t-shirt.

Sighing contentedly at the contact, Castiel gently tilts Dean’s head to kiss him properly. “It won’t be forever. And if it ends before it goes too far, it’ll be easier this way.”

Dean’s nose wrinkles. “Don’t jinx it,” he says sourly.

Castiel smiles. “ _Now_ who’s the sap?”

“I just like it,” Dean says, dangerously close to whining. “It’s new, but I like it.”

“We’ll simply have to work as hard at it as we do everything else.”

Dean shuffles a step closer, pressing their cheats together and tucking his chin into Castiel’s neck. His arms snake around his waist. “Regardless. Stop saying things to jinx it,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear.

Castiel brushes his fingers against the back of Dean’s neck, up against the velvety short hairs at the base of his skull. “Spend the night with me?”

Dean uses his weight to get them stumbling towards the stairs. Laughing, Castiel extracts himself and they continue up more safely. Dean hooks his fingers into Castiel’s belt loops to keep him close while they make their way to Castiel’s room. “So, did you mean ‘spend the night’ in the good way, or the lame way?”

Grinning, Castiel says, “Are you implying that I didn’t do enough for you this morning?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You knocked it out of the park. I mean, were we gonna cuddle and watch TV, or were you gonna pull out your laptop to go over the schedule or some shit?”

With a small hum in the back of his throat, Castiel admits, “we need to review those letters sooner rather than later.” He moves to open his door, but Dean knocks into him from behind, resting his forehead between Castiel’s shoulder blades.

“But it’s been a long day and I’m tired. That’s enough work for today!”

Castiel reaches over his shoulder and ruffles Dean’s hair like the child he’s acting like. “We haven’t done any work at all.” He turns the knob, Dean glued to his back as they step into the cool, dark space. “I’ll get started on them if you want to shower first.”

Dean comes around him, kissing him. “I don’t wanna shower first. I wanna shower with.”

“You know who whines?” Castiel asks lovingly. He pecks Dean on the lips. “Babies.”

Dean replies by kissing the tip of Castiel’s nose daintily. “You know who says shit that that?” He finds the spot under Castiel’s ear that drives him wild when he nips at it. Then he pulls back. “Assholes.”

Castiel pops him on the ass and Dean laughs all the way to the bathroom. They’ve got a long, thrilling way still to go.


	6. Chapter 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel lay some ground rules for their relationship before departing for Vancouver. **NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter tags:**  
>  mentions of mental illness (Sam)

“This Lucifer character is a real piece of work,” Dean mutters, swiping at his tablet to the next letter, and then back, and then to the next, and then back a few more.

“These letters are certainly ‘creepy,’ as Charlie described to us,” Castiel says distastefully, clicking around through the same files on his laptop.

They’re ensconced in their shared office having a closed door meeting while Sam autographs the piles of promo shots downstairs for his fans. He’s never happy about being cut out of certain aspects of his own protection, but it’s for the best, and he had requested months ago not wanting to hear anything else about stalkers unless absolutely necessary. He’s sensitive to these sorts of things and takes them to heart too deeply. Unless it’s something he needs to know about, he’s content to grumble mildly and leave the rest to his bodyguards.

“I get it, though,” Dean says, tossing his tablet onto the leather seat beside him on the couch.

Castiel swivels around in his desk chair to face Dean. “Get what?”

Dean shrugs. “Sam’s so goddamn _accessible_ to his fans. Not, like, physically, of course. We do a good job of keeping a healthy distance between him and potential problems, but online? He posts stuff like he’s talking to his friends and family, y’know? There’s no wall that you’d expect from most famous people.”

Castiel inclines his head from side to side thoughtfully. “I don’t follow other famous people on their Twitter... things, or whatever they’re called. So I suppose I don’t have a frame of reference for the differences.”

Dean pushes his glasses up onto his head, rubs his tired eyes, and stretches up to unkink his shoulder muscles. “Well, most famous people have a way of talking on their social media that doesn’t necessarily invite conversations or invitations for personal stories, or whatever, ya with me? It’s how they make sure their fans remember that they don’t _actually_ know each other in real life.”

Castiel nods in assent.

“So, they talk about themselves and might get really personal sometimes, but they usually only do that when the media’s after them for something bad. And they post it more like a speech for the masses than something they’d write in their diaries.”

“And Sam doesn’t do that,” Castiel surmises.

“No, he doesn’t,” Dean says disapprovingly. “Remember when Sam started his mental health charity?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirms. “It was a big deal for him.”

“Yeah, but it came out of that damn convention in Atlanta a few months before you came on board. One of the fans got up at his solo panel and thanked him for his work. Said that _Fairy Tales_ helped them get through some really hard times. How they’d found the strength to go on because of the show and how Sam’s character had been struggling with the same mental illness. So, they felt less alone in the world. It had a huge impact on Sam.”

“Oh,” Castiel says in dawning realization. He hadn’t heard the whole story, though Sam had mentioned it had something to do with _Fairy Tales_. Sam had refused to go into it too much because he’d said that he didn’t need another lecture about it. “He never told me the whole story. But I supported his decision to start the charity.”

“I did too,” Dean hastens to assure him. “It’s a great cause. It’s helped hundreds of people already, and that’s awesome. But it opened a door into Sam’s personal life. And it got out of hand. You know how sensitive he is. He posted all about it on Facebook. Made a big speech to the fan at the con, and then...” he blows out a hard breath. “Man, it got bad for him. You got here when he was on the upswing again, but... for a while...” he scrubs his hands through his hair. “There’s only so much someone unqualified to hear about people’s bad mental health that a guy can take. And it was easy for the fans to feel like that shit was appropriate to tell him all the time because he’d never built up a barrier to distance himself somewhat. It was tough. The convention runners eventually had to post announcements that no one could ask Sam personal questions during his panel, and not to approach him with their recovery stories at the autograph table.”

“It’s why we have to move the lines along so quickly,” Castiel realizes. “Not just to give everyone a fair chance at having some time with him, but also to prevent them from overburdening him with their personal problems.”

“Exactly,” Dean confirms. “For a long time Sam was so freaking _guilty_ over the fact that he couldn’t handle hearing the world’s problems.”

Castiel leans back in his chair, soaking in the information. It’s all clear to him now. “Sam is so empathetic that the stories must have weighed heavily on him after a time. He went to dozens of conventions for that show every year.”

“And tons of people at every one had something to say about their issues. It’s also why we hired Charlie. So she and her team can take care of the comments and questions on his social media, and he only has to deal with potentially upsetting things when he feels like he can. It’s still hard for him. He went to a pretty dark place for a while. It took a whole crew of people like Charlie, and his awesome therapist, to help him back to a better place.”

Castiel sighs. “That opening he accidentally created a year ago has remained like an open invitation for his fans to think they’re his friends. To get too close to him.”

“Yahtzee,” Dean says heavily. “That’s why it’s not surprising when he gets letters like what we’re dealing with from this Lucifer guy, who think they actually know the _real_ Sam Winchester.”

With a nod, Castiel asks, “you think it’s a man?”

“I do,” Dean says confidently.

“How much have you been able to glean?” Despite the nature of the beast, Castiel enjoys Dean in his element here. As bodyguards, they’re evenly matched in skill and smarts. Dean is a better shot, but Castiel’s got a surprising amount of martial arts skills. That’s often why he takes point to move the crowds away while Dean hangs back. He’s not as talented at using his body as a weapon or a shield. All bets are off when Dean gets pissed off, though. There was that one time he literally pulled his gun on a pigeon for shitting on the Impala, after all. His temper has gotten much better with Castiel’s presence. And some deep breathing techniques Sam brought with him from therapy.

However, _this_ part of Dean is truly unique to their collective skillsets. Castiel can read people’s intentions, especially in the heat of the moment, but Dean can pick them apart even when he’s never met them; even when he’s never _seen_ them. Even when they hide behind the name Lucifer.

With an unconsciously proud look, Dean picks up his tablet again and readjusts his glasses dramatically. “He’s definitely a male. Probably early to mid-forties. Midwestern speech patterns. At least some college education. Middle class. Seems like a mid-level manager or something, though the job isn’t super critical here. Big news, though? He’s not a fan of Sam himself. It’s his brother who compelled this jackass to write a dozen letters in a week. My guess? The brother is significantly younger and ‘Lucifer’ likely raised him. He’s religious and thinks that Sam’s a... sinful influence. He could also be struggling with his own sexual attraction towards Sam, too, though that’s not what spurred his initial contact.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “This isn’t exactly a new approach, then. Sam’s character in _Midnight Walk_ was gay. He received a huge amount of hate mail after that.”

“This is different,” Dean says, passing the tablet over to Castiel to look over the profile and the notes Dean had made in the file. “Those were mostly from religious rights groups and shit. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts the little brother’s some sexuality other than straight, and Lucifer here ain’t happy about it, _especially_ when he’s probably questioning his own sexuality, too.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel deadpans. “And he decided to blame a random actor for it?”

“Eh,” Dean dismisses. “It happens. Sam’s not _actually_ out publicly as being bi, but it’s a well-known secret. I mean, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t made an announcement only because everyone already knows and hasn’t asked for a statement. Plus, it’s probably not completely random. Lucifer’s brother had to have mentioned something, even in passing. Thinking Sam was handsome, or his favorite actor, or any sort of admiration. That would do it for someone who is a strong homophobe. Even more so if the homophobia stems from his own denial.”

Castiel agrees. “I believe that. At any rate, how dangerous is Lucifer? How seriously should we tag him?”

Dean slides onto his back lengthwise over the sofa, resting his head against the sofa’s armrest. “Not sure yet, but the sheer quantity of letters he’s sent in a single week makes me think we should work on identifying him. I dug through the mail archives and saw that this guy’s been sending stuff for nearly a year now. But we only really noticed now because he’s been gradually decreasing the time between letters. I’m not sure why he sent so many because when you put them together, it reads like one long letter. We won’t know if he’s going to try and escalate until we get more.”

“He’s worth flagging,” Castiel agrees. “I’ll note in the file for Charlie to prioritize looking for more letters every time she gets another shipment.”

“Good call,” Dean says.

Castiel types in the notes and then taps the stylus against his chin thoughtfully. “Why would this man write physical letters? Isn’t that considered extremely personal these days?”

Dean gives him a tired thumbs up. “Yeah. That’s why I’m worried there will be actual escalation. Time will tell, but we stay on alert.”

“Understood,” Castiel says. “At least Sam hasn’t got any public appearances that involve audiences for the next few months.”

“Thank heaven for little favors,” Dean mutters.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The rest of their collective vacation passes uneventfully. The weather gets colder over the next few weeks as summer ebbs, and Sam gradually loses the dark circles under his eyes until he’s practically vibrating with the energy to get back on set. Charlie and Gabriel have left for Vancouver to set up the house, deal with all the other accommodations before filming commences, and will pick them up from the airport.

The night before their departure Dean and Castiel decide to have one last meeting between the two of them.

Dean stands facing Castiel with his arms crossed over his chest.

Castiel stands facing Dean with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Dean says.

“We need to,” Castiel counters. “We’ve been together for a month now. And Sam’s returning to work tomorrow. We’ll be living in a rental home, and things will need to change. We need to set up the ground rules. Concrete rules. Otherwise, it’s too big of a risk. We haven’t done this while balancing a full workload. And we can’t afford to be distracted with Sam’s safety at stake.”

“Dude, I get that,” Dean says petulantly, “but this is our sex life, not a freaking boardroom contract negotiation.”

“It _is_ a contract negotiation. Perhaps not drawing up a literal, paper contract, but that’s what it is. That’s what we need. Rules so that we can remain safe, sane, and consensual at all times,” he admonishes disapprovingly. “I thought you said you researched BDSM so that we could have this discussion on more equal footing.”

“I did!” Dean insists, face a touch red. “I really freaking did, Cas.”

Castiel straightens his back and scowls harder. “Then what’s the issue here?”

“It’s just weird, okay?” Dean bursts out. “I’ve never had to have a freaking contract for sex!”

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard it moves his whole upper body. “Dean,” he sighs. He’s got a lecture on the importance of it all, but then pauses to really take in Dean’s expression. He’s not being belligerent out of unwillingness. And he wouldn’t lie about the research. His reticence is something else. Castiel has never had a sub so unwilling to negotiate terms, but he keeps forgetting that Dean knows nothing about any of it. He’s never done this before. It’s Castiel’s responsibility to take it seriously and put him at ease. It’s his right and privilege to do so.

He holds his hands out, palms up. He waits. Dean dithers for a moment and then threads their fingers together. “I’m being stupid about this, aren’t I?”

“No,” Castiel smiles. “Not at all. Dean, with how you are when we’re together, it’s easy to forget that you’re a novice. Perhaps we should approach this in a different way.”

Dean gives him a dubious look, but he’s listening. That’s the opening Castiel needs. “How?”

Castiel steps into his space slowly. “This isn’t a contract about sex. It’s a firm foundation for us to build a lasting relationship, as well as a fulfilling sexual relationship. It will ensure that it’s both safe and fantastic.”

Dean is starting to smile. It’s all so ridiculous. He has to admit that there’s something appealing about making a rock solid foundation. It’s really not all that much different from dating to figure out if your long term goals are compatible or not. It’s an extension of that. And Castiel seems interested to try and make the things they learn beyond the sexual project out into the real world.

Dean would never say it out loud, but he knows he needs to calm the fuck down sometimes. He knows he makes the situation worse occasionally when he goes for rash action before words. Maybe Castiel’s strict influence will translate outside the bedroom.

And Castiel? He realizes that he’s too anal. Too distrustful of anyone he doesn’t personally know. Even then, he’d say in a second that he wouldn’t trust Gabriel as far as he could throw him. But Dean is showing him complete open trust. He can learn from that.

“Okay,” Dean says finally. “Let’s talk this shit out.”

Castiel beams at him like he hung the moon. “Agreed.”

They sit at the small table in the office, again behind closed doors just to be cautious. Sam is meeting with Gabriel and Charlie over Skype, and those three can go on for hours, but he knows never to come into the office when the door’s closed.

It also has the benefit of being a shared space for Dean and Castiel. They’re truly equals here.

But as the more experienced one, Castiel speaks first. “I want you to be comfortable in everything we do privately,” he says sincerely. “If you’re unsure of your limits, we can discover them together. Perhaps mine will be a starting point?”

Dean gives him a “go ahead” gesture. “Sure, man. I might have done the research, but real world experience probably works better here. There’s a big difference between what sounds like a good idea, and what actually feels good to me. And you.”

“That’s true,” Castiel smiles. “Very well. I’m quite open minded with concern to kink. I’m not a true sadist, but I do enjoy causing you pain that you approve of. I don’t favor blood, feminization, or humiliation. But from what we’ve experienced so far, I don’t think you would find pleasure in those, either.”

Dean shifts in his chair. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I mean... I like it when you... uh, when you compliment me and stuff, but it would be weird if you did it in some other way than you do already.”

“I don’t mind that,” Castiel encourages. “Please tell me anything you think of. There’s nothing at all to be embarrassed about. Are there things you know you like and want to explore further?”

“Yeah, I... yeah,” Dean says softly, clearing his throat. “You already know I like pain sometimes. Um... bondage. Not sure how far I’d like to take it, but I... man, I like ropes, cuffs, scarves, you name it, I’m probably game.”

“Actually, I’m quite talented at shibari and Western bondage,” Castiel says eagerly, eyes lighting up. “I would adore binding you. It’s my specialty, if I had to pick one.”

Dean’s smile is still weak, but growing in confidence all the time. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much more there is. I don’t have any uncommon fetishes or nothin’. I’m cool with the aspects of D/s stuff.”

“What about punishment?” Castiel queries. “What would be appropriate? What would you prefer not to do?”

Dean shrugs. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

Castiel swallows hard. He’s slightly hoarse all of the sudden when he says, “that’s... are you sure such a blanket statement is fine with you?”

“Yes,” Dean says, gaze unwavering. “You already know what I’d safeword for. I just feel like I have to trust you with that part completely. My challenge is to take it, your challenge is to dole it out properly. If you can do that, I can tell you if it’s not my thing.”

Castiel reaches across the table, grabbing Dean’s other hand, choked up a bit. “I can,” he promises. “Dean, I’m unsure how to properly articulate the happiness you give me.”

“Don’t need to get all cheesy and formal,” Dean mutters gruffly, but he’s smiling wider.

“Honesty isn’t cheesy,” Castiel protests. “But if that’s what you think, then get used to it.”

Dean can’t stop the weird way his face pulls into a stupid grin. Doesn’t really want to try because Castiel seems to be mirroring him without a care in the world. “What do you want out of all of this, Cas?”

Castiel traces the veins in Dean’s hand with the light touch of the tips of his fingers. “I wasn’t sure at first. I’ve wanted you for a long time; I won’t deny that. I thought it was safe because of your history.”

Dean’s eyebrows tick up. “My history? With dating?”

“You didn’t date,” Castiel points out with humor. “You picked up people in bars and restaurants and were gone before the sun came up.”

“True enough,” Dean agrees. Then his smile fades. “So... are you saying you don’t want an actual long term relationship after all?”

“I’m saying that I _do_ ,” Castiel stresses. “I thought before that we’d be fine letting off some steam together. We would have been. But I don’t want that. I want more, but... it’ll change things between us if that’s our mutual goal.”

Dean has the audacity to roll his eyes. He clenches Castiel’s hand tighter. “What? You’re gonna pretend it hasn’t already _been_ changed for weeks now?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I realize that. And as infuriating as you are, please don’t be anything else.”

“Dude, you still hate me half the time when we’re on the clock!” Dean chuckles.

“But it _works_ that way!” Castiel insists. “You’re too impulsive and I’m too conservative and Sam is kept safe because of it!”

Dean gives him a long, assessing look. “Do you just wanna punish me a lot for breaking protocol?”

“Do you see that happening a lot?” Castiel asks archly.

“Yes,” Dean says with a biting grin. He leans forward over the table.

Castiel meets him halfway. “I thought I told you I don’t like bratty subs.”

Dean’s gaze flies over Castiel’s face before resettling on his eyes. “I thought _you_ just told me not to go being anything else? I don’t think you’re saying what you mean.”

Their lips are only a breath apart. “My punishments aren’t kind.”

“Figured that was the whole point. My personality sucks for a sub. I’ve got a lot of concentrated asshole in me, after all.”

“I want to take you right on top of this table,” Castiel growls.

“And you’re not doing it? The fuck’s the matter with you?”

Castiel lunges across the table, surprised that he doesn’t bruise himself banging into anything. He grabs fistfuls of Dean’s shirt, dragging him up frantically. Dean scrambles, one arm shoving everything off the table, the other trying furiously to remove his own clothes.

There’s no time for that shit. Castiel slams him down against the table, Dean’s breath knocked out of him with the forceful contact. His eyes shine with dangerous mirth when he recovers his breath. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs. He’s already hard.

“My leniency towards you baiting me won’t last after today,” Castiel warns darkly. He rips at Dean’s belt buckle and the fastenings on his jeans.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Dean muses, tearing open Castiel’s jeans. But when Castiel takes them both in hand, jacking them roughly, Dean’s palms smack the table, grabbing the corners for dear life. He moans loudly as thanks for getting exactly what he wants.

Castiel is mildly irritated with himself that he’s giving in so easily, but this is their last day of freedom. It’s worthy of celebration and indulgence. It feels too good to stop. “Touch me,” he demands.

Dean’s hand is on his dick right away, slicking him down with only precome and the sweat on their palms to ease the way. He wants to kiss Dean. Steal his breath again with something sweeter, but he doesn’t. If he did, the stunning sounds would be muffled, and he can’t have that. Not today, when it’s the last day that they can be as open as they want, even in private.

The sight below him is good enough, anyway. Makes him hot. Dean’s eyes are half mast, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he selfishly chases his pleasure while giving back so much in return.

Castiel tilts his head to the ceiling, soaking in the sounds of their panted breaths and moans. Such lovely music.

And he’s so caught up in his own pleasure that he’s shocked when Dean gasps, “Cas! So close!”

Already? Castiel looks down. Dean is strained, tense, fucking up into Castiel’s hand as hard as he can. It punches Castiel’s lust higher, leaping him towards his own release. “Come for me,” he grits.

“Fuck!” Dean groans, his body releasing all its tension with his orgasm. The compelling sight crashes Castiel right along with him.

Quick and dirty. It’s delightful. Castiel and Dean both breathe deeply, recovering in the afterglow together.

Dean whips off his shirt to give them a cursory wipe down. “Can’t keep my hands off you for anything,” he says breathlessly.

Castiel grins. “It’s an affliction we both appear to suffer from.”

Dean tosses his shirt negligently over his shoulder. “Guess I have a reason to do laundry and pack now.”

Castiel slides off the table with a snort. “You haven’t even packed yet? We’re going to be in Vancouver for a long time, you realize.”

“I work best under pressure.” Dean sits up, looking smug and fucked out.

“I don’t understand your disregard for even basic self-motivation.”

“I get the job done. That’s all that matters.”

Castiel has about a million retorts on the tip of his tongue, but he’s too happy on endorphins to manage bothering with any of them. He also has some last minute preparations to make as well.

There is, in fact, a _lot_ of running around to do at the very last minute. Sam basically packs his entire house up, but still doesn’t see the point in buying a second home up in Vancouver despite the fact that he films up there regularly. Soon to be more if _Wayward Brothers_ ends up a hit. Netflix had ordered a short first season, but if it gets the right amount of viewers, all bets are off for future ones.

There are labeled boxes littering the front hallway along with their suitcases. Dean nearly stubs his toes on a few of them trying to get to the kitchen, and since he doesn’t know where his brother is, shouts to the house at large, “Sammy, you realize they have stores in Canada to buy shit at, right?”

Sam pokes his head out from the living room. “Of course I know that,” he says moodily, “but I’d rather have _my_ stuff. What would I do with all the shit I buy in Vancouver, anyway?”

“Burn it,” Dean grunts, rubbing his bruised shin. “Seriously, at least rent an apartment or storage unit to keep the stuff in the off-season.”

“We’ve been over this,” Sam says reasonably, sorting through the boxes and stacking them more neatly for shipping. “Where would you and Cas stay? We’d have to rent two places, or buy a house that’s out of my price range, anyway. Then there’s Charlie and Gabriel to think about. Forget it. This is cheaper for now.”

“Just make sure you’re good to go in the morning, okay? No more missing flights. Gives Cas stress hemorrhoids when the schedule gets screwed up.”

Sam laughs. “I thought you two were getting along better.”

“Vacation’s over, and there’s nothing wrong with stating the truth,” Dean says breezily, helping Sam get everything out of the way. “Gabriel sent an email a little while ago. He and Charlie said the house is clean and ready to go.”

“Good,” Sam confirms. “Sorry to make you move to Canada with me.”

Dean knuckles Sam’s shoulder. “You’re paying me to. It’s the only way I’d agree to it. At least it ain’t L.A.”

“There are more boxes than last time,” Castiel’s voice says from the top of the stairs.

“He already knows, and doesn’t give a fuck,” Dean answers. “He doesn’t want to buy Canadian things.”

“Don’t be racist,” Sam says mildly. "I'm paying for the movers to haul your car up there, too, so you don't get to complain."

Castiel eyes the pile warily. “You’ll be unpacking until it’s time to come home again.”

“Not you, too,” Sam laments. “It’ll be fine. You’re not in charge of it, anyway. I’ve scheduled UPS to pick it all up in two hours. They’ll deliver it right to the doorstep, and you don’t have to help unpacking if you don’t want to.”

Dean laughs. “Just riding ya, man. Don’t worry about it. Everything else ready?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. Sam nods, too.

“Great!” Dean says brightly. “Off to goddamn Canada!”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean thinks Canada sucks. If Sam hadn’t been paying him to be here, he wouldn’t have ruined his passport with the stamp. It’s bitter cold already and rainy. It’s always fucking _raining_ in Vancouver. He’s gonna get a serious Vitamin D deficiency or something. Sam would tell him to count his blessings that at least it doesn’t snow much.

“You’re frowning already,” Sam notes from beside him as they push their way through the Customs line to meet Gabriel and Charlie.

“Planes suck, this weather sucks, the time change sucks, everything sucks,” Dean mumbles.

Castiel yawns. “I’m tired, too. How far away is the rental house, again?”

It’s contagious. Dean yawns in response to Castiel and Sam yawns in response to both of them, which makes Castiel yawn again. Dean plants his palm firmly on Castiel’s cheek and pushes his face to the side as he yawns again. “Stop that shit,” he grouches. At least the cycle is broken since he can’t see Castiel’s next yawn. “And to answer your question, the house is pretty close.”

“Good,” Castiel grouches back. “I need to sleep forever. We’ve had a double morning with the time change. This is literally my worst nightmare.”

Sam is the only one at least attempting a good mood. “Both of you are such babies. Come on, it’s almost your turn.” He goes to the Customs officer when directed and gets stamped through. Dean and Castiel follow quickly.

Gabriel and Charlie are fairly easy to spot, despite the crowds. Charlie is dressed in bright blue pants and a blue and white polka dot shirt. She’s also jumping up and down waving to them. Gabriel gives them a casual wave, inappropriately dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and fleece-lined coat. Castiel grumbles something about drawing unnecessary attention, but most of the travelers around them are as exhausted as they are, and no one seems to identify Sam, thanks to his poorly crafted disguise of a messy bun, sunglasses, and his most baggy clothes.

He rushes to Charlie and lifts her off her feet in a hug, and she shrieks with happiness. Gabriel gets the same treatment, though he’s much more quiet about it.

Dean hears Charlie giggle, “you give the best hugs!” as they approach. Dean gives her a tight hug himself, kissing her temple.

“Good to see ya, Charles.”

“You too, Dean,” she grins. Then she hugs Castiel, who always looks confused when receiving open affection. Never ceases to amuse the rest of them. “Okay, let’s get you guys settled. You look tired. The house is great, though! Really quiet, and there’s plenty of space so we won’t step on each other’s toes too much.”

She and Gabriel both help with the baggage carts. There’s a large SUV with tinted windows waiting at the exit, and they all pile in for the drive.

The trip is longer than any of the jetlagged men would like, but the view is nice even through the rain.

Gabriel and Charlie and Sam don’t stop chattering the entire way, so it’s a miracle that Castiel manages to fall asleep, but he does like a pro, drooling on Dean’s shoulder without a care in the world. Dean and Charlie exchange a wry look, and Sam slaps Gabriel’s hand away when he tries to drop a Skittle into Castiel’s open mouth.

By the time they reach their destination, a large secluded six bedroom home tucked into the trees, Dean thinks that sleeping forever sounds about right. Charlie bounces around to give them a tour of the house, though it’s only perfunctory since they’re too tired to take it all in.

Dean tips their new driver, Benny, all the money in his wallet when the hulking man takes in all of their luggage without being asked and sets it in their assigned rooms. Dean’s a little bit in love with him just for that, but then he mentions in his thick Louisiana drawl that he’ll be their on-call driver for the remainder of their stay in Vancouver. When he promises to take Dean to all the best watering holes and dives in the city, Dean nearly drops to one knee.

And now done with traveling, Dean finds a bout of renewed energy to unpack the suitcase with the clothing in it, at least. Castiel will bitch about wrinkles endlessly otherwise, and Dean refuses to try to iron. The rest can be left until tomorrow. It’s their last day of freedom, and despite what he’d said before, Dean plans to help Sam get the house set up how he wants. It’ll be less stressful on all of them with a place that feels at least marginally like home.

After a few hours, he’s finished with his clothes, toiletries, and moving the bedroom furniture around to his taste. It’s not dinner time yet, so Dean moseys on over to knock on Castiel’s door. There’s no answer, which is surprising. He knocks again, but when he’s met with silence a second time, he pushes the door open.

He has to slap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing loudly. Castiel is face down on the bed, fully clothed, shoes and all, snoring like a lumberjack.

Jesus. Dean chose this man? Of course he did.

He approaches the bed and perches on the edge, staring at the rumpled man sleeping so soundly on top of the covers and everything. Dean won’t risk waking him, so he does what he can, easing off Castiel’s suit jacket, shoes, and socks. He can’t get at the tie, but eventually Castiel will wake up to do it himself.

Feeling a rush of affection, Dean leans over and kisses the back of his head. “Sleep well, sunshine,” he murmurs.

He makes sure to close the door soundlessly when he leaves with a soft smile that sticks to his face for hours to come.


	7. Chapter 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a rough start to filming. Dean has a shitty day. Castiel helps both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags:
> 
> Shibari

Dehydration finally hits Dean sometime in the middle of the night. He’d unpacked everything fully throughout the day, fighting the jetlag as much as he could, but he’d gone to bed too early and woken with a start after midnight, more thirsty than he’s ever been in his life. Goddamned recycled plane air. He pads down to the kitchen bleary-eyed, and somehow makes a wrong turn, ending up in the doorway to a sitting room. Where Sam and Gabriel appear to be having a private conversation in hushed tones.

He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he’s tired and his moral fortitude is running on empty. He dips back into the hallway far enough to be out of sight, but close enough to still hear what they’re talking about.

“Gabe, I get what you’re saying, but I’m not ready for that stuff. Don’t think I’m cut out for it, anyway.”

“You’re an awesome actor,” Gabriel answers. “You can do anything. Even this stuff.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Is that asshole trying to get his little brother to do “tasteful porn” again? Jesus, he’ll never let it go.

“Yeah, but some fake relationship for the media coverage? Come on, I don’t need that.”

Gabriel scoffs. “Look, it’s not a forever sort of commitment I’m asking you for here. Frankly, I think it’s a super shitty idea. I don’t wanna see you have to pull a stunt like this, either. But it’ll help your image. Charlie was right to mention it. She’s spun some good ones in her day.”

“And she put you up to it because I say no to you a lot less than I say no to her.”

“There is that. But, no. She dismissed it, and I thought I’d put it on the table, anyway. You get the final say in your PR calls.”

Dean takes the risk to poke his head around the doorway. He can’t be hearing this right. Sam dating some starlet for his image? Since when has his image needed that sort of thing? Charlie would have told them all if there’d been something shady circulating in the tabloids. But he’s more surprised to see Gabriel looking really fucking miserable to be having the conversation he’s having. Sam looks more sullen than normal about it, too.

“Gabe, I...”

“I already said, it’s not about that,” Gabriel cuts off harshly, really piquing Dean’s curiosity now. “Look, Samshine, it’s a solid plan. Your star is still on the rise. We need to strike while the iron’s hot. And...” he grins sheepishly. “You’re a pretty hot iron.”

Sam shifts closer on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this. I mean, you’ve put me up for weird roles and stuff for your own amusement, but this is different. This is inviting a total stranger into my personal life. Into my _family_.”

“No, it’s not,” Gabriel protests. “Not really. It’s for the press. You take whoever it is out on some public dates, hit the red carpet events, maybe yeah, bring ‘em back to the house a time or two just for show. And then after a few months, you part amicably.”

Sam sits back on the cushions, crossing his arms over his chest with an unwavering frown. “There’s more to this.”

Gabriel doesn’t answer.

They stare each other down.

Sam loses the contest. “You already have someone in mind,” he realizes.

Gabriel relents with a nod.

“Who?”

“Ruby Cortese,” Gabriel says with a hint of disdain.

Dean snorts. Sam laughs loudly, thinking it’s a great joke. Dean watches Gabriel, knowing it isn’t. Sam figures that out quickly, too. His eyes pop wide. “Are you _serious_? Ruby Cortese? How in the hell is someone like _Ruby_ going to help my image?”

Gabriel opens his mouth to answer, but Sam’s beaten him to it. “She’s been the biggest Hollywood train wreck in years! Another child star who went off the rails, right? She’s got a dozen charges on her from theft, to drugs, to punching the paparazzi. The cherry on top is that she slept around with other peoples’ boyfriends, and was so impossible to work with that she got fired from her last film. And that was, what? Two years ago? Am I missing anything here? Because she’s bad news, and you are insane for even suggesting it.”

Gabriel holds up both his hands placatingly. “It’s more for her, less for you. To repair _her_ image.”

“Dude, she has to _want_ to change, and it’s pretty clear she doesn’t,” Sam says harshly. “I’m not gonna let her drag me down to make the cover of _People_.”

Gabriel’s face scrunches. “She, uh... she’s... doing better.”

“How so?” Sam asks suspiciously at Gabriel’s reticence.

Gabriel dips his head. “Shewenttorehab.”

“She _what_?!” Sam squawks.

Dean has to stifle his laugh in spite of himself. It’s gone so bad that it’s swung all the way back around to hilarious.

Gabriel groans. Repeats more slolwy, “she went to rehab, okay? She’s been out for nearly a year, and she’s doing great. She’s been slowly getting back into the business. Mostly one-offs on shows up here, but it’s a start! She goes to AA meetings and looks really good when someone gets candids of her. And this morning I got a call that she has a guest role coming up in _Wayward Brothers_. Charlie made the offhand comment that if it was anyone else, it’d be a good publicity stunt. It’s smart, and a convincing story that will write itself.”

“Sure,” Sam says sourly, painting the picture without any difficulty. “Sam Winchester meets Ruby Cortese on the set of his new television show, and the two hit it off between takes. Instant chemistry. The All American Boy Scout charms the consummate party girl, inspiring her to keep herself on the straight and narrow all the way back to stardom and adopting two dogs!”

Morosely, Gabriel adds, “as they both grow more famous, they grow apart. Divergent schedules, living in different cities, no time together anymore. They break up, but tell _Entertainment Daily_ that they consider each other really good friends.”

Sam jumps to his feet. Jabs a finger at Gabriel’s nose. “Fuck you,” he says with feeling, stomping out the door that Dean’s not currently ghosting, towards his side of the house.

Gabriel sighs loudly and Dean decides it’s an appropriate time to come out of hiding. “You’re a jackass,” he tells him succinctly.

Gabriel doesn’t even look surprised to see him. “Heard all that, didja, Dean-o?”

“Sure as shit did,” he answers, resting his shoulder on the door frame. “Sammy might wanna fire you _and_ Charlie over something like this. It’s so far outside his brand that I’m having a hard time understanding why you even bothered to bring it up.”

“‘Cause it’s good press,” Gabriel says like he absolutely doesn’t give a shit. “I’m his manager. Anything that helps Sam higher up into that superstar stratosphere is something I’ll entertain.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you,” Dean echoes his brother. “Sam’s famous _because_ he doesn’t play these Hollywood bullshit games! He’s a breath of fresh fucking air in this industry. Dude, you took him on because you _liked_ that about him! He’d never sell his soul for fame. That ain’t how he works. He’d take his law degree and fade into obscurity before doing something like dating a fallen star to help her get famous again. Her crap is her own fault. She made her choices.”

“I know that,” Gabriel mutters.

“Then what the hell?” Dean asks. “Do you _want_ him to fire you?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel says sharply. He looks up at Dean, and there’s a deep dissatisfaction in his hazel eyes. “I want him to have everything he’s ever dreamed of. This is a way to get there. It’s not selling his soul. It’s pretty mild compared to what tons of other people do. He won’t be fooling anyone but the media. Ruby’d be in on it, too. She’d be willing. I mean, why wouldn’t she be, right?” His lips twist in a humorless smile. “Sam’s six feet and four inches of the hottest stud in Hollywood. She barely has to think about it.”

Dean scowls. “I never really liked you all that much since you’re a chickenshit, Gabe, but Sam trusted you wholeheartedly to represent him the way he wants, and you’re breaking his heart going against that. And you know it. And for that, I hope he fucking fires you.” He turns and leaves, letting Gabriel stew in _that_ for a while. Or for the next five weeks until Ruby is due on set.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean’s foul mood on Sam’s behalf carries him into the next day, which isn’t the most auspicious start to the return of a full work schedule. He sleeps like shit, drinks enough coffee that his skin is buzzing, snaps at Charlie for nothing, and is barely able to say two words to Castiel for fear of getting some lecture that will only serve to set him off again in retaliation. He sulks in the car, stomps around the set, and glares daggers at everyone, including, but not limited to, people he’s never met before.

Wisely, Castiel keeps his distance as much as possible. They’re in each other’s orbit constantly, but Castiel seems to know the outer limits of Dean’s bubble of acceptable distance.

By the afternoon, Dean is even annoyed that people are obviously giving him a wide berth. And he’s hungry.

And Sam is as distracted as his brother, so the first day of filming isn’t going smoothly at all.

They break late in the afternoon for a few hours since they have some night filming to do. Sam looks seriously down when he shuffles off to his trailer, Castiel by his side, Dean several feet back. When they reach it, Sam trudges inside and Castiel swings around, planting a firm hand on his partner’s chest. “Sam first, and then you,” he says simply.

A bubble of annoyance brings up a scowl, but Dean nods curtly, remaining where he is.

While he’s waiting, the last person on Earth he wants to see approaches him, holding out a large coffee like a shield.

Dean takes it and turns his moody stare on Gabriel, who has the decency to look chagrined.

“I’m feeling like this is all my fault,” he says.

“It is,” Dean answers.

Gabriel sighs like a deflating balloon. “Fuck.”

“You know how to fix it,” Dean says.

“I will,” Gabriel promises. “It’s not worth doing this shit without Sam.”

Dean’s small smile is a tiny ray of sunshine peeking through thick clouds. “You’re right. But you better give him some time before you come crawling back on hands and knees.”

“Figured. You gotta know that all I want is for him to be successful. I joke a lot, but every move I’ve made for him is to make him successful.”

Dean leans back against the trailer wall, sipping the coffee that’s too sweet, but that’s Gabriel. “That approach might work for you, but not for Sam. None of this is so important to him that he’d compromise himself. Which you’re already aware of.”

Again with that strange sadness etching lines into Gabriel’s face. Frankly, Dean didn’t think Gabriel was capable of feeling any negative emotions whatsoever. “I thought it was worth a shot to give Sam the choice,” he says in a small voice.

Dean huffs and pushes off of the wall. He pokes the short man square in the chest. “That shitty feeling you got right now? Whenever you have that again, back the fuck off and find another way.”

“That’s actually the best advice I’ve had in a while,” Gabriel says bleakly. His shoulders straighten and he swings his arms back and forth, psyching himself up. “Okay, yeah. I can do this. Gonna do this. Much obliged, Dean-o.”

Dean nods and watches Gabriel tromp off with renewed vigor. He hates the guy a little less.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Castiel doesn’t bother to knock on the trailer’s door. Sam would probably just tell him to go away, and that won’t solve anything, so he takes one for the team, knowing he’s least likely to get something thrown at him. But when he enters the surprisingly spacious trailer, Sam is sprawled as well as he can be on the small sofa towards the back of the trailer, all the lights off, gloomy gray fading daylight through the window the only illumination.

“I was so excited to start filming this show,” Sam says dejectedly. “It’s such a good story, and my colleagues are amazing, and it has such awesome potential. And all I’m doing is fucking it up.”

“Things could be going better,” Castiel agrees, seeing no point in sugarcoating the problem. Sam’s never appreciated being talked down to just to save his feelings. “There’s time to salvage the day, though. The cast and crew are chalking it up to jetlag and first day jitters, from what I’ve been hearing.”

“That’s good.” He sounds exhausted.

Castiel undoes the button on his suit jacket and takes a seat on the armchair by the large screen TV. “Did something happen between you and Dean yesterday? He’s been acting strangely as well.”

Sam looks shocked. “What? Dean? No. I mean, nothing happened between us. I knew he was pissed this morning, but I assumed it was something _you_ had done.”        

Castiel’s eyebrows tick up. “That’s a fair assumption, but I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t even spoken to him today outside of general job notes. He’s said about three words to me since we got here.”

“Then something else is going on with him. _My_ problem is freaking Gabriel.”

The wealth of emotion sets Castiel back on his heel for a moment. It sounds like there’s something here with a lot more depth than just a career dispute of some kind. He’s not sure whether he’s the person who should be tackling such a thing since he acknowledged that his “people skills” are “rusty.” However, Sam Winchester is his best friend in the whole wide world, and he’d do anything for him. Even be terrible moral support. “Would you like to talk about it?”

He’s not sure what causes it, but Sam actually bursts out laughing. “Dude,” he chortles. “You look like you just sucked a lemon making that offer.”

Reflexively, Castiel massages his jaw. He knew this was a bad idea. “I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees. In that moment, he looks supremely down in the dumps, and Castiel really _is_ willing to do what little he can to help. “You really wanna hear the whole thing? Because I’ll tell you every word. I like talking it out, after all.”

Castiel’s expression relaxes into a supportive smile. “Yes, I came here to help in any way that I could.”

He’s decidedly _not_ prepared for Gabriel’s latest shenanigans. Or, he supposes, Gabriel’s next career move for Sam. But he’s not surprised by the anger that courses through him on his friend’s behalf.

Putting himself at social risk and sacrificing his own happiness for an acting career? Plenty of people do that, but Sam Winchester isn’t one of them. His priorities are much different. Furthermore, all this just to help the comeback story of a former child star who chose to ruin her own life multiple times, even after being offered help? It’s completely unacceptable, not to mention spectacularly stupid. It could backfire tremendously, and put Sam in some horrible situations that threaten his image, yes, but more importantly, his safety. He tells Sam all of this, hoping it’s appropriate.

It seems to be, because Sam seems much more energetic when he follows up with his opinion on the whole sordid affair. Every word makes Castiel angrier and angrier. When Sam is finished venting, Castiel growls, “where is Gabriel? I’ll throw him out by the back of his neck myself.”

Sam spreads his hands pleadingly. “I’m... I’m not ready to pink slip him just yet.”

Disbelievingly, Castiel says, “why the hell not?! This is a gross breach of your trust _and_ your safety! Even I know about her! It takes a lot for me to have any interest in the private lives of stars who aren’t you, so you can imagine how much coverage has been made of her missteps that I’ve become aware of them.”

“No kidding,” Sam sighs. “I understand why he suggested it, though. On paper, it’s a really good idea. Perfect timing, too. New movie, new TV show. I’d get a lot of good exposure. But still, he’s allowed to make a mistake. We all are, as long as we learn from them.”

“I don’t agree with the idea that any press is good press,” Castiel counters. “It could be nothing but bad press and ruin your image. Your image is what we’ve been trying to protect this whole time. You said you’d never compromise on your ideals.”

“I’m not going to,” Sam says decisively.

“Did you tell Gabriel that?”

“I’m going to. I just... I needed to cool down for a while, y’know? He’s been trying to corner me all day, and I’m not done being mad.”

“Well, you’re making the right choice. I’ll send him home so you can have some peace.” There aren’t any more words between them, so Castiel stands. He has his hand on the doorknob before he turns around again. “If Gabriel can’t preserve the man you want to be while maintaining your fame, then we should find you someone who is better at being a manager.”

Sam smiles, lopsided, and looking far more normal than he has all day. “I agree.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The trailer’s door opens and Dean sucks in a breath. “How’s Sam?” he asks with false levity.

“He’ll be fine. Did he tell you about Gabriel’s scheme?”

“Yeah.” When there’s nothing else forthcoming, Dean glances over his shoulder to find Castiel staring at him with a frown. “What?”

“Did you do any violence to Gabriel?”

Dean blinks. “Fuck, no! Why would I?”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “Because I have personally witnessed you punching people for doing far less to Sam than Gabriel is suggesting.”

He wants to be angry, but it’s true, so he shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m either getting soft in my old age, or I just don’t think Gabe’s worth it. You seen how short he is? Wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

Castiel snorts a laugh. “So, is your foul mood related to Sam’s?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, a little chagrined. “Just really pissed me off. And I didn’t sleep well, and I hate Canada, and it’s all just a shit sandwich.”

“Speaking of which, have you eaten?”

Dean sighs. “Nah, haven’t really been hungry.”

“Go eat. I’ll hang around here.”

Needled by Castiel’s babying, Dean gripes, “don’t take that tone with me while we’re on the clock. Ain’t gonna work.” He sips his coffee petulantly.

Castiel comes down the short steps with a loud sigh. “I’m not giving you a command. I’m asking you to please eat something so your blood sugar doesn’t get too low. Your current mood is bad enough in a professional capacity. I’m not even thinking about it personally.”

It’s difficult for Dean to take the high road sometimes. See, he knows Castiel is right. He knows he acts like a total dick when he hasn’t eaten or slept properly. He knows that the miasma of everything today that put him in a bad mood could be alleviated at least a little bit if he’d hit up the craft services table. They’ve got a good spread, as always. But sometimes Castiel’s inflectionless voice makes him feel like he’s being pandered to, so he can’t help reacting like a bear that got poked. “Fuck off, I’m doing my job just fine.”

“I’m not debating that,” Castiel objects.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. Dammit. “Cas... I just need... goddammit. Whatever. Want anything while I’m over there?”

Castiel shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ll radio if there’s anything.”

Dean grimaces and claps Castiel on the shoulder as he leaves. At least sandwiches won’t upset him. Unless they have lettuce. Then he might just have to punch something for real.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The bedroom door clicks shut. Castiel says nothing. Dean rotates his shoulders to ease the tension. “I know you’re waiting for an apology. I’m really trying here, but I can’t shake it.”

Castiel doesn’t react beyond loosening his tie and removing it. “I know. There are a lot of annoyances piling up all at once today.”

Dean paces the room back and forth, back and forth. He shakes his hands out vigorously. “If I was a yoga man, I’d be over this shit by now.”

“No,” Castiel says mildly. “You hate yoga. You need positive reinforcement.”

He’d like to find the humor in this, but it’s always been difficult for his bad moods to bleed off properly when he can’t just kick back with his records and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a while.

It seems Castiel has another idea, though. His jacket is now off, and he’s very deliberately rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Would you like my help?”

Dean swallows. That tone. God, he loves that tone when it’s outside of the workplace. “Yeah,” he croaks. He does. He really, _really_ does.

Castiel smiles. “Go to the closet and pull out the black case on the top shelf.”

Dean does so. The box is heavy and wooden. He has no idea what’s in it, but some suspicions. He brings it over obediently and places it on the bed. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Dean undoes the metal clasp and flips the top. His heart stutters. It’s rope. A shit ton of rope. Different colors, kinds, lengths. Castiel had mentioned wanting to tie him up when they’d first talked about this. Goosebumps erupt over his skin just imagining what it’ll feel like.

“Color?” Castiel asks; permission to start a scene, just as much as it is a check-in.

“Green,” Dean whispers. So very green.

“Bring me the red rope, please.”

Carefully, Dean reaches into the box and reverently extracts two coils of red rope. It’s soft, feels almost worn, but when he squeezes it, it feels strong. Barely any stretch to it. He holds it out.

Castiel takes it from him and uncoils it slowly, stroking it with his long fingers, letting it trail out of his hands until he’s only holding a couple feet of it. “I know I said I’d ease us into this, but I’ve got the feeling you could use it tonight. I think this will help relax you properly. If you’re willing?” He looks Dean square in the eye.

Dean holds his gaze to show how absolutely okay he is with this. “I’m willing.”

“Remove your clothes.”

Trapped by his Dom’s steady gaze, Dean can only stare back as he begins to remove his clothes. The tie comes off first. He moves to toss it aside, but again with that compelling eyebrow arch. Dean aborts the movement, instead rolling the tie up into a careful ball, and setting it on the bed. His jacket he folds neatly and places next to the tie. His dress shirt comes off, and is also carefully placed on top of the jacket. Shedding his uniform is already starting to calm him and loosen his muscles a bit. Not for the first time, he’s struck by how amazing Castiel is at what he does. But rather than marvel at it, or comment on it, Dean gives himself over to it.

When he’s naked, Castiel stands him in the middle of the open floor. As he prepares, he speaks in a cool, soothing cadence that out in the real world, Dean would be insulted by. Here in their sanctuary, it’s a balm. “If you enjoy being tied as much as I predict you will, one day we’ll move on to kinbaku. It’s beautiful and erotic both. I prefer it to most Western bondage.” He flips off the overhead light so that only the warm glow of the desk lamp remains. “But for tonight? We’ll stick to shibari. It may turn you on, however...” he strolls over to Dean, tilting his chin up with one finger. “Tonight isn’t about sex. Is that clear, boy?”

“Yes,” Dean says softly.

“Your only job it to accept your bindings. Can you do that for me?”

Dean’s mouth is as dry as a desert. He nods, eyes wide.

Castiel kisses him briefly. Softly. Dean’s lips tingle in the aftermath. Then he steps back. “We’ll use cotton rope tonight. It’s very comfortable. May I begin?”

“Please,” Dean manages to breathe.

Castiel moves behind him. Despite the warning, the first touch of Castiel’s hands makes his dick twitch. It’s harder to resist the arousal when the ropes join. Castiel gently guides Dean’s arms just slightly behind him. Dean regulates his breathing while listening to the rustling of fabric and rope. Then he feels the soft cotton slip over both his wrists and up over his shoulders. He shivers.

Castiel touches the back of Dean’s neck. “I want you to hold perfectly still. I’m only going to bind your arms and chest.”

Dean gives a single, sharp nod of assent. For a moment, he can’t feel much of anything, but then Castiel deftly begins to tie, yank, tug another loop of rope around both his arms. Tie, yank, tug, loop. Over and over. His arms begin to squeeze tighter against his sides. It feels mildly uncomfortable, but overall amazing. He can’t seem to completely relax still, and that’s perhaps why Castiel is making so sure he feels every binding. He performs about six ties, and then he’s done, and Dean is bound from just under his shoulders down to his hips.

When Castiel comes around to the front, he’s eyeing Dean like an artist would a statue he’s carving. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” Dean can’t help wiggling a little just to test it. “Tight.”

“Circulation?”

“Fine.”

Castiel nods. “I’m going to do something called a dragonfly harness on you. It’s constricting, but pretty.” And without further ado, takes the length of rope around Dean’s waist.

He hadn’t said that Dean couldn’t watch, so he tilts his chin down enough to see. He’s enthralled at how confident Castiel is in his work. The man has much more experience than Dean could have imagined. He can hardly comprehend the way that he twists and winds the rope around his torso, up and up until he stops under Dean’s pectorals. He threads the rope around his shoulders, under his armpits, down his sternum, then begins to tie complicated knots on each twisted loop around his middle. Startled, Dean realizes that it would look amazing on a woman, framing and squeezing her breasts.

Even so, the ropes become more and more constricting; he acutely feels every breath he takes, shallow. He can’t draw in a deep one. It’s... strange. A small whorl of panic begins to stir in his throat. He’s positive that he doesn’t tense more than usual, but Castiel is a creepy mind reader. He murmurs, “just watch me. Follow me.”

Follow him? _Where_? Dean’s eyes flit over Castiel’s whole body for some guidance, but there’s none. What the fuck? Why is he doing this? What kind of test is this? He’s never _done_ this before. It’s not relaxing! Castiel had _promised_! And now all that’s happening is his mind racing. He doesn’t want to mess up _another_ thing today. He doesn’t want to be punished!

Castiel takes in a loud, deliberate breath. Lets it out with a steady flow of air while he completes the last of the knots right below Dean’s belly button.

_Oh._

_Breathe._

He needs to breathe.

The literal knots over his chest begin to ease with the figurative ones inside of him once he has that part down.

“You’re doing incredible, sweet boy. We’re going to relax now.”

It sounds like an impossible task, but the warmth of praise kinda makes him believe Castiel. He allows himself to be led towards the far side of the room where there’s a comfortable reading nook. There’s a plush leather arm chair by an end table near a set of shelves stuffed with books. Castiel takes the throw pillow from the chair and drops it to the ground.

“Kneel.”

Dean folds his legs under him on top of the pillow. His balance is a little off, but Castiel’s steadying hand on his shoulder prevents him from toppling.

It’s not super comfortable, but it’s not painful, either. Castiel seats himself on the chair and pats his leg.

Feeling silly, Dean leans forward carefully and rests his cheek against Castiel’s thigh.

“What’s your color?” Castiel asks softly.

“Green,” Dean murmurs. “But... it’s weird. Kinda. I don’t feel all that relaxed. I’m more tense than before.”

“Close your eyes.”

Dean does so. He feels tender fingers sifting through his hair, and that’s nice.

“Breathe evenly, and let go. Right now you’re thinking about how constricting the ropes are. That they’re preventing you from moving, or breathing properly. It’s not that, Dean. I’m not doing it to _restrain_ you. Not tonight. I’m doing it to _hold_ you. Don’t think about anything else. Let me take care of you. I can do that much for you.”

Dean breathes. In and out. Every time his chest expands, the ropes pull at his ribs. It’s... it’s not all that weird now in that other context. It feels like he’s being held impossibly tight. He can almost imagine it’s Castiel. It sort of is, in a strange way. He’d watched those talented fingers weave all the lines, complete all the knots. And now those amazing hands are in his hair, massaging his scalp. Gradually, Dean finds himself falling into the ropes. They’ve got him. Castiel has him. He could be like this forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until Castiel is gently shaking his shoulder. “Dean?”

“Mph,” Dean mumbles, nuzzling into Castiel’s leg.

There’s an amused chuckle. “It’s time to untie you. Get you to bed.”

Dean feels like jelly. Castiel has to haul almost his full weight up by himself. He keeps his eyes closed because it feels like it’ll take way too much energy to open them. All he can feel are several swift tugs, and then he can breathe much easier. Then there’s cool softness. _Soft_? Bed. Probably the bed. He doesn’t give a shit. He feels awesome.

Definitely the bed. Dean stretches out, wiggles his extremities. Everything is heavy in a great way. Then he feels _skin_. Glorious naked skin. Smells like Castiel.

Castiel who takes such wonderful care of him. Tucks him in. Makes him so fucking _happy_. And his _voice_. “You’re more than I could have dreamed of, Dean Winchester. Please know that. You did so well. Everything I needed you to do.” Large hands adjust him until his back is pressed against Castiel’s chest. The hands stroke over his arm and chest. “You have such strength in you. You care so deeply. You want to make everyone happy. It’s a wonderful trait. But I also know that it wears on you. That’s why I’ll always have your back. I’ll always look out for you. Always.”


	8. Chapter 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go smoothly until they don't. **NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter tags:**  
>  edging  
> dry orgasm  
> orgasm denial  
> prostate milking  
> bottom Dean

Thanks to Castiel’s care on Monday, Tuesday is a lot smoother right from the start. It helps that during breakfast, Gabriel appears early and almost literally kisses Sam’s feet. He agrees to never bring up Ruby Cortese and fake dating ever again, swearing he’ll call her manager after breakfast and make everything clear. It paves the way for the rest of the week to go a lot better than anticipated.

Sam settles into his routine with the cast and crew, and even Dean can see them beginning to gel. The cast is awesome, friendly, and _super_ into taking selfies. Castiel is the most confused by this, but he’s also become the most popular person on the set. Just about everyone snaps pictures of him with various squints and frowns on his face. Dean gets a kick out of it, but then he’s pulled into the picture happy craziness as well when they learn that both Dean _and_ Castiel are Sam’s bodyguards and handlers. The bromance practically writes itself.

However, no one has anything on Benny, who, after coming onto the set late to pick Sam up and return him home, ends up as an extra in the show. It’s a short-lived brush with fame, seeing as how Sam’s character shoots him in the head, but Benny laughs it off with a good-natured, “got paid to say one line and then lay on the ground and take a nap, so I ain’t complaining.”

Charlie gleefully shows them the cast and crew’s Twitter pages and the show’s official blog. _Wayward Brothers_ is already generating a lot of buzz thanks to the “sneak peeks” of production photos. By the fifth week of filming, a teaser trailer has been released for the pilot, and the social media accounts jump with likes and followers.

On Sunday, they’re relaxing for lunch at the house outside on the patio since the days of beautiful weather won’t last much longer, and in the lull while waiting for the chicken to finish grilling, Dean has deigned to explore the Twitter feeds of some of the cast and crew who have been tagging him incessantly in pictures. He didn’t even know he _had_ a Twitter. But he does. Charlie had made it so. He enjoys it a thousand times less than even Castiel, who probably secretly wishes he was born before electricity was invented. But Castiel is a good team player. Every night before bed, he taps carefully thought out replies to his DMs and mentions. And the more he does it, the more it seems to grow on him.

“Hey!” Sam says, peeking over Dean’s shoulder at his phone while passing out another round of beers. “That’s an awesome pic of you and Cas! Who took it?”

“Mildred,” Dean answers distractedly tapping out haphazard replies to the crew members who follow him since Charlie had basically threatened him into making an effort. “Your costume designer is a fucking menace.”

Sam laughs and Castiel perks up from where he’d been perusing his feed. “Is it the one with the cowboy hats? I like that one.”

Dean snorts. “Not like I’m gonna turn my nose up at the finer things in life, such as quality leather works, but you do realize that pic has about five _thousand_ likes and retweets? You and me aren’t supposed to be the famous ones here, compadre.”

Castiel’s face scrunches with consternation when he can’t find the photo, passing his phone across the table to Charlie with a doe-eyed, plaintive, “I want it for my phone’s background.”

Dean’s about to send a warning shot to Castiel about being so freaking obvious, but when he glances around, no one is really paying attention, and Charlie doesn’t seem suspicious. She happily finds the picture and saves it to Castiel’s phone, and the man practically lights up.

Sam is being hemmed in by Benny and Gabriel, all looking at some of his photos from Benny’s gruesome five minute acting debut.

So instead of drawing attention to it, Dean relaxes back in his chair and says, “I did like the _Tombstone_ vibe.”

“I’m your Huckleberry,” Castiel deadpans, sending Charlie into peals of laughter.

“You guys are _adorable_! No wonder the internet loves you. You’d make a super hot couple.”

“Ugh,” Dean groans for the sake of appearances.

Castiel just grins. “I don’t really understand the appeal of two completely not famous men on a television film set, but it’s entertaining, if nothing else.”

“How do you not get it?” Charlie demands. “It’s like the _Bodyguard_ , right?”

Castiel gives her a questioning look.

“Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner movie,” Dean supplies.

Castiel shrugs.

“You guys are a good story, is all,” Charlie clarifies. “People look for romance everywhere, you know? Two attractive gents such as yourselves being cute and fun gives people ideas. It’s good press. And totally harmless. Sam approves, too, just in case you were wondering.” She glances at the both of them. “Of course, if you’ve _really_ got a problem, I can run some interception,” she says more like a threat than an offer.

Castiel takes it all in stride, and so does Dean for the moment. Especially because he’s distracted by checking the grill, but throughout the rest of the day, Charlie’s words do start to bother him. She probably didn’t mean anything by it, but all the same, he calls a closed door meeting with Castiel later that night. It’s the first since they’d arrived in Canada.

Needless to say, Castiel looks obviously concerned when he meets Dean in the upstairs office, closing and locking the door. “Has something happened?” he asks straight off.

“No,” Dean assures him, rubbing his temples, but the tension won’t be dispersed. “Not really.” He’s overthinking this, right? There’s nothing to be worried about. The whole world hasn’t figured out their situation. Like he cares about the world. Just Sam. And the way that things are going for him right now? He doesn’t need this on top of it. He’ll worry way too much.

His silence must have gone on too long because Castiel prompts, “Dean?”

“Sorry,” he says, shaking himself out of the thought spiral. He jumps in feet first. “Are we being too obvious?”

“About what?” Castiel asks, confused.

“Us,” he says pointedly.

Castiel’s eyes widen. “I don’t think so, no. Why? Has someone said something to you? You are better at reading people than me.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “No one’s really said anything, nah. It’s just... like, today? What Charlie said at lunch?”

Castiel’s whole posture relaxes. “You’re worried about that?”

“Aren’t you?”

He shrugs, loosening his tie. “Not really, no. Dean, people creating romantic subplots out of people’s lives is a tale as old as time. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” He drapes his tie and jacket over the back of his office chair. Then he turns fully to give Dean an assessing look. But it’s not as clinical as usual. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and unsure when he asks, “would you hate it if people found out about us?”

A sharp stab cuts through Dean’s chest. Not for the first time, he’s wondering if keeping everything on the down low is the best idea. And Castiel seems to be of the same mind. On the one hand, it’s hot, kind of. Sneaking around is pretty damn alluring with the added danger of getting caught. And being a source of Sam’s stress is the biggest reason that neither Dean nor Castiel is exactly willing to back down. Sam is their top priority. But with the _public_ starting to talk about them... well, he gets how that’s added a layer to Castiel’s unease. It strikes Dean that Castiel is probably insecure about them. He’s not a mind reader, and Dean’s not exactly forthcoming on the words part of the relationship foundation.

He could really fuck this whole thing up if he’s not paying attention, couldn’t he? Jesus.

“Hey, come here, Cas,” he says just as softly.

Castiel pads across the room until he’s a foot away, and Dean takes his hands, squeezing them reassuringly. “What we have is awesome, okay?”

Castiel looks slightly surprised by the admission, but his eyes soften. “I agree.”

Dean tugs him closer. “I’m not keeping this under wraps because I’m ashamed of it, either. Do you get that?”

He nods. “I do. I’m...” His eyes slip off to the side over Dean’s shoulder. “I realize I’m just sulking.”

Dean grins. Fuck, he didn’t know it was possible, but Castiel’s actually capable of being _cute_. He presses a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s pouty frown. “Can I ask you something and get an honest answer?”

“Of course you can,” Castiel smiles. “I always answer you honestly.”

Dean pulls back a step. “No, I mean, for real. You don’t always give me the whole deal when you think it’ll piss me off.”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Very well. I promise.”

It’s Dean’s turn to look away, though his voice is steady. “Are you waiting for me to jump ship? Like... are you worried that I’m wanting to keep this a secret, not just because of what we talked about before, but because you think I want an easy out if I get scared?”

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head when Castiel stiffens and fails to answer for several seconds. “The whole truth?” he finally ventures.

“Please,” Dean swallows hard.

Castiel reaches up and touches Dean’s cheek, but doesn’t force him to look up. “Part of me has worried about that, yes.”

Dean winces. Not like it’s unexpected. His track record would only prove the point.

But as usual, Castiel keeps putting him at ease. “I also think a lot of my anxiety is a manifestation of my own insecurity.”

Shocked, Dean’s eyes meet Castiel’s. “What?” he says flatly. “Dude, you’re like... uh, pretty much the least insecure person I’ve ever met.”

Castiel smiles at the compliment. “Not with you. And it’s more than us being oil and water at work most of the time. You’ve asked for the whole truth, and here it is: I care too much about you to not worry about it all falling apart. We’ve been together for two months now, and I’m starting to forget what it was like before there was an ‘us.’ And I’m scared to re-discover it one day. I don’t want to.”

His words make Dean’s heart skip a beat and then go double time. He’s not precisely stunned by the confession, if he’s being honest. Castiel’s the type of guy whose well runs deep. On the outside, he’s stone and seriousness, but peeking under the hood ain’t hard, if you know how to look. And Dean knows how to look now that he’s ready to. He’s always known how to read whoever he chooses to. Castiel Novak, while sometimes _acting_ robotic, is actually human. Dean can see the fissures. He hates more than anything that he put some of them there.

“Well, you don’t gotta worry about me,” he says gruffly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t,” Castiel points out wryly. “We work together.”

“Yeah, yeah, and office romances never end well,” Dean scoffs. “I’m not talking about that.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Castiel asks in a tone that indicates he’s loathe to force Dean into more uncomfortable discussions about feelings.

Dean loves him just a little bit for that. This man never tries to push him further than he’s willing to go. No one in his life aside from Sam has been so considerate. So Dean digs in and goes for it, difficult as it is. “I’m talking about how we are together.” He can feel his face heating, but he pushes on. “Shit, Cas, I’ve never been so _satisfied_ before. Or cared for. Man, you _know_ me. You got close, and didn’t even have to _try_. That’s not a thing I’m gonna pack my bags and walk away from. No one’s...” he swallows. “No one’s bothered to try as hard as you to go deeper with me before.”

When he looks up, he’s alarmed to see that Castiel is suspiciously dewy-eyed. If he cries, Dean will take back everything he just said and run like hell.

But instead of crying, Castiel is suddenly kissing him so fiercely that he can taste a hint of blood when their mouths collide. Then he’s grabbed in a bone crushing hug that feels wonderful, though Castiel is trembling with emotion. “Dean,” he gasps. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Dean only holds him tighter while he silently agrees.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

It’s a good thing that they’ve had a heart to heart, because less than twenty-four hours later, Dean is pushing every last one of Castiel’s buttons. It’s not entirely his fault he’s in a bad mood, but it _is_ entirely his fault that he’s taking it out on the wrong person.

They aren’t in physical contact much during the day, but their radios have been on the whole time. It’s not three hours into the day when Dean snaps, “are you chewing gum over the radio? Fucking stop, man!”

Castiel’s sigh crackles into Dean’s ear and he says, “I’m not. It’s just feedback.”

Thirty minutes later: “the hell is going on with that static? Move your goddamn throat mic so it doesn’t keep getting jostled by your shirt, or whatever.”

A growled, “of course, Dean,” follows.

Twenty minutes later: “tell whoever’s with you to shut the fuck up. I can _hear_ them. Quiet on the goddamn set.”

Castiel’s long-suffering voice answers, “I’ll tell them.”

Ten minutes later, and there’s: “Cas, for shit’s sake-”

Castiel turns off his radio before he can hear the end of it. And he leaves it off until dinner break when he finds Dean standing guard outside of Sam’s trailer like he wants to set the entire lot on fire. “You turned your radio off,” he says in a biting tone by way of greeting.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Did you expect me not to?”

Dean only scowls harder. “What if something had happened?”

“I would have seen it,” Castiel returns with a bite in his own voice. “I had perfect sightlines.”

Dean scoffs, turning his face away, muscle jumping so hard in his jaw that it looks like he’s chewing on a rock. “Sure.”

“Dean!” Castiel bursts out, at wit’s end. “What the hell is going on?”

Dean jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Sam’s having dinner with fucking Ruby Cortese.”

Mystified, Castiel says, “so?”

Dean spreads his arms out with a sound of incredulity. “Are you kidding me right now? Getting chummy with Ruby?”

Castiel plants his hands on his hips, hanging his head. He’s got no hope of figuring any of this out without more of an explanation, but he also sees the inherent danger in digging deeper when Dean’s in this kind of mood. And there’s nothing that they can do about it on set. Carefully, he says, “isn’t it a good thing that they’re getting along? A friendly cast makes a show that much stronger. And if Ruby does well here today, she’ll be contracted for a few more episodes. That will be wonderful for her career. Sam sees the good in people.”

“I fucking _know_ that,” Dean hisses, yanking Castiel to the side so they can’t be overheard. “That’s what I’m worried about. Dude, I don’t like her.”

“Why not? Because of her history?”

“Because I can see it all over her face,” Dean counters, pushing close and keeping his voice low, yet fervent. “She’s playing Sam hardcore. Trying to work him.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “To what end?” He’s not entirely convinced that it’s not just paranoia. As the older brother, overprotective brother, Dean hasn’t always been warm and welcoming to Sam’s previous lovers. Then again, Ruby doesn’t have the best history recently, either. So he’s willing to entertain a theory or two as long as he’s not expected to pass judgement before judgment is due.

Dean glances to either side. Satisfied no one else is around, he says, “my guess? She wants in on the plan Sam called off.”

“Oh. To date for publicity’s sake?”

“Yes!” Dean exclaims, eyes lighting up. “But she knows Sam won’t go for it, so why not try it for real? Make Sam fall for her and then play him out until the end? Think about it. If she’s with him, she’s in. She can get a contract for more episodes here, and if she’s good enough, who knows how deep the pool is?”

It sounds quite plausible. Sam has lamented again and again how so many Hollywood types are only interested in friendships and relationships that cultivate more fame and money. And considering how quickly she’d agreed to Gabriel’s offer before... Castiel grips Dean’s forearm. “Do you really think she’ll do that?”

“There’s coincidence and there’s someone who seems like an easy target. Which do you think Sam is in a user like Ruby’s eyes?”

Castiel grimaces. “Understood. Let’s speak to Sam about this later. Until then, please try to stay calm about it. There’s nothing you can do right now. We can’t cause problems on set.”

“Yeah,” Dean says grimly. “That’s why I’m pissed.”

Castiel’s hand tightens compellingly on Dean’s arm, forcing the man’s gaze up. Castiel leans in close. “I’ll take care of that tonight, too.”

“Cas,” Dean whispers, ears hot.

Castiel kisses him, biting hard at his bottom lip. It’s over before he can so much as react. “Be ready. There’s punishment in store for treating me so poorly when I wasn’t the cause of your anger.”

“Noted,” Dean says breathlessly.

Smirking, Castiel pats his shoulder lightly and walks away to resume his post.

Later, when filming resumes, Castiel turns his radio back on. Dean can see him across the parking lot set, but only barely. He’s standing well apart from everyone, wandering the edges of the cordoned off area. “I’ve been thinking,” Castiel says casually over the mic. “When we first negotiated this between us, you said to me, ‘let the punishment fit the crime.’”

Dean can feel his face flash hot. His eyes dart around, even though no one can hear what Castiel is saying. “Jesus, Cas-”

“Shut your mouth,” comes the calm command, and Dean’s teeth click together. “You’ve said enough unnecessary things over the radio today, haven’t you?” Silence. After a pause, Castiel says, “that’s good. You’re learning your lesson.”

They hadn’t explicitly agreed on a total separation of church and state, and though Dean would love to tell Castiel to keep it in his pants, he can’t deny that this is turning him on a little. He likes it, and can’t be bothered to muster up the appropriate indignation to put a stop to it.

Especially when he can see Castiel across the lot at a stern parade rest, looking his way. It’s impossible to see that blue gaze from this distance, but Dean is positive it’s on him. “Crime and punishment are strange things, aren’t they?” Castiel continues. “You say to let the punishment fit the crime, but perhaps our definitions vary? What if I decided that I should tie you down and edge you until you begged me for release?”

Dean chokes.

“Ah, I heard that. Perhaps not then, since it’s not much of a punishment if you enjoy it too much. Hmm... maybe pain would be a better deterrent? Where would it be the most acute for you?”

Dean sucks in a long, silent breath, thankful it doesn’t trip his mic.

“There are so many options,” Castiel muses, sounding gleeful. “Your nipples, your beautiful ass...”

The small, throaty whine does trip the mic.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel coos, then his voice hardens to steel. “Rest assured that whatever I choose, you will never forget.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

It’s been a long time since Dean’s been on the wrong side of a pair of handcuffs, and he can’t say he’s displeased with the situation. In fact, Castiel’s concern is pretty freaking adorable considering how stern he’d been when he started the punishment.

“Dean,” he says gravely. “These aren’t safety restraints. You won’t be able to release yourself if you need to.”

Dean yanks, tugging hard on the plastic zip tie restraints. “Cas, how many more times do I have to tell you that I trust you?”

Castiel seems taken aback. “I... even here? You’re leaving your need to end a scene if you safeword in my hands. That’s... you don’t need to in this situation.”

“But I want to.” To show his honesty, Dean relaxes completely against the mattress. His shoulders strain a little against the spread angle, but it’s a good, grounding soreness. “Besides, you were pretty fucking enthusiastic a minute ago.”

That’s completely true. The second the bedroom door had closed behind them, Castiel had been on Dean like a ton of bricks. No words, no warning. He’d grabbed his zip ties as well as Dean’s handcuffs from their belts and secured him smartly to the headboard with ninja-like reflexes. Dean hadn’t known what had hit him. And now he’s spread out, dress shirt open, tie askew, only fully naked from the waist down. Also hard as a rock, but that’s kind of a given.

Castiel is fully dressed still, save for his shoes and socks. He taps his chin thoughtfully. “You’re right. The sight is fairly arousing. I’ll remember this every time I see them now.”

“Perv,” Dean laughs. But he’s an awful lot of bluster and mostly heated stimulation. It’s burning all over him, and Castiel hasn’t even touched him all that much yet. Mostly just perfunctory to get him trussed up and nude.

“That mouth on you,” Castiel tuts, suddenly back to full confidence. “I see you’re not taking your punishment seriously enough. I suppose we should remedy that.” So very slowly, Castiel unknots his tie and removes it. He approaches the bed. Eyes Dean up and down. “I’ll need to teach you to behave before you ruin all of my ties,” he says regretfully. He makes a firm knot in the center and leans down until he’s inches away. “Open wide,” he murmurs.

Obediently, blood pumping faster, Dean parts his lips. With a small smirk of approval, Castiel puts the knot between Dean’s teeth and then fastens the tie around the back of his head. “Comfortable?”

Dean shakes his head. The fabric is chaffing the corners of his mouth, but it’s not tied too tight. Just not as loose as he’d prefer.

Castiel’s feral grin curls up wider. “Good.”

Dean watches silently as Castiel stands to full height again and retrieves the lube from the bedside table. Then he slides onto the bed, still no skin on skin, and sits cross legged between his knees, keeping Dean open. It’s an excellently vulnerable position. Dean starts to squirm.

“Now, Dean,” Castiel says patiently. “You know how I feel about brattiness. You’d better make yourself as cozy as possible quickly, or I’ll have to secure your feet as well.”

Dean tries his best to stop moving, though it takes longer to settle down than usual. Castiel seems to be giving him that small defiance for a moment.

He makes a small _mph_ through the tie, and that seems to satisfy Castiel.

“Wrap your legs around my waist and keep them there,” he says.

Dean does so.

“If you wish to call off your punishment, release me and pound your foot on the mattress three times. Understood?”

Dean lets go his right leg and taps his foot on the mattress.

“Good boy. Shall we begin?”

Dean wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist again and nods.

Castiel coats his fingers in lube. Dean watches down his body as those nimble fingers stroke over his dick several times, then down to his balls. He whines again but it’s cut off in a gasp around the silk in his mouth when Castiel circles the sensitive skin around his hole and then pushes his long finger inside past the resistance. Dean’s lower back arches up, changing the angle of Castiel’s finger; forcing it in until it brushes against his prostate.

Castiel, rather than admonishing him, makes a pleased hum. “It’s amazing how sensitive you are. I’ve always wanted to take my time fingering you. See what I can do to you this way.”

Heat pools in Dean’s belly at the promise. Suddenly all that time he took cleaning himself and prepping is worth it. _So_ worth it to have Castiel’s hands in him. It feels amazing.

In a detached, almost scholarly tone, like he’s standing at a lectern, rather than knuckle deep inside Dean’s ass, Castiel works his finger in and out to the slow cadence of his voice. “I’m wondering what kind of person you are in regards to prostate massage.” He presses against the bundle of nerves, Dean’s core quaking at the intense pressure. “You see, I’ve done this quite a bit with other people. Some, I noticed, can’t come at all with just fingering.” He thrusts in as deeply as he can, curving his finger slightly up, then dragging back out, every inch of the callused length rubbing against his prostate. Dean moans.

“You’re not that type at all, are you?”

Dean shakes his head vigorously, already panting against the gag.

“No,” Castiel purrs in agreement, his left hand stroking over Dean’s clenching abs, digging his blunt nails in. The dull pain added to the pleasure nearly brings Dean off the bed. “You’re not. There are also others who can come dry this way, and can have multiple orgasms until they actually manage to ejaculate. Are you one of those?”

He can’t shrug or say he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t. He’s never actually come from just prostate massage before. But he’s damn sure he’s about to learn if he can.

And Castiel can sense the response because he asks lightly, “you’re unsure?”

Dean nods again.

“Well, then. We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

_Oh, God_. Not like he’s opposed to the idea. Castiel twisting and thrusting his finger in and out with no mercy is one of the best things he’s ever felt in his life. Pleasure gathers somewhere in the base of his spine, begging to be released, though he’s not sure how. It feels different than a normal orgasm. Good, of course, but also... kind of itchy. Like it won’t be enough. But he’s going to fucking learn something new because the next thrust of Castiel’s finger makes him clench hard, dry orgasm punching out of him.

Distantly he can hear Castiel murmur, “oh, that’s lovely.”

It’s a strange sensation. Overwhelmingly pleasant, but with a lot of pressure still behind it. Almost like he got half way through a sneeze before it stopped. It makes his legs spasm around Castiel then lock tighter.

“Completely dry,” Castiel says approvingly, stroking up Dean’s still-clean belly and chest. “Now, come back to me, my sweet boy. We’re not done. Come back.”

It’s difficult, but he does. That sinful finger is still inside him, caressing gently, but Dean focuses instead on the palm pressed over his racing heart, petting him comfortingly.

“Can you breathe all right?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods again. He can’t seem to catch his breath properly, but he’s discovered that a little oxygen deprivation heightens the whole experience for him, and he’s in no danger of passing out.

Satisfied, Castiel resumes his torture again, and this time the buildup is a lot faster. Dean’s muscles go taut and his wrists cut into the restraints. He’ll have marks tomorrow, and he gives less than two shits about that.

Of course, this time, one finger simply isn’t enough. Castiel must know after a minute of Dean’s internal muscles clenching and releasing, trying desperately for _something_ , because he slides in a second next to the first and plunges in as deeply as he can go, hard pumps of his hand, barely any in and out, but it’s fantastic, the deep thundering inside him. He can’t hear anything through the rushing in his ears, white noise buzzing at the same tone as his second orgasm crawling up from his spine. It explodes behind his eyes, and would rip a scream out of his throat, but the tie keeps it muffled. Beads of sweat roll down his temples. His toes curl. He can’t fucking stand it.

Castiel is murmuring something that Dean’s brain can’t process. Doesn’t have the capacity to. All that’s there are Castiel’s hands inside him, perhaps three fingers now - he can’t even tell that much. All he knows is that the release is begging for _release_. More and more. He can’t come down this time from the painful ecstasy. Can’t take much more. His body isn’t his own. He’s not even inside it anymore. How can he be so fulfilled and still so needy? How can an orgasm not actually be one? How can his body be so heavy, yet still feel like he’s floating way above himself?

Unconsciously, his legs squeeze Castiel tighter, drag him closer. Tears and saliva soak the silk in his mouth, drawing his attention.

The third dry orgasm almost hurts. His cock and balls throb with the need for touch. For Castiel. There’s a high pitched sound irritating the edges of his senses.

Instantly, the tie is ripped out of his mouth, exchanged with Castiel’s chapped lips. The burn of stubble is too much.

He can feel skin on skin, and it’s overwhelming. Sliding skin. Castiel moving. _Thrusting_. Fuck, yes. Fucking _yes_! Dean is so full. The overstimulation of Castiel’s dick inside him makes him think he can feel every small vein and ridge. He probably can’t, but he’s going insane with the sensory overload.

Then... finally then, Castiel’s hand is on him, jacking him off so fast that Dean’s keening cries - the weird noise was him after all - cut into soul-wracking sobs. It’s too good. So good.

Castiel’s hands are in his hair, pulling focus yet again. Kissing him, gasping into his mouth. The nonsensical words become, “Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean!”

It’s permission. He knows it. The orgasm that shoots out of him is almost violent in its intensity. Spots dance behind his closed eyes. He’s pretty sure he came so hard he pulled a muscle. Somewhere.

Slowly, he starts to come down as Castiel takes care of him. His arms drop to the mattress, wrists burning. His knees part and flop loosely to the side. Castiel’s hot weight settles on top of him.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel is whispering right into his ear. “You’re fine. You’re here with me. Can you come back to me now?”

“M’here,” Dean slurs.

A rusty chuckle rumbles against his chest. “You were amazing,” the reverent voice continues. “Are you okay?”

“M’be,” Dean tries. “Soon. Jesus.”

A series of small kisses meet the side of his jaw. “You will never cease to be more than I ever expected.”

Dean smiles, holds Castiel more firmly against him. “Never wanna be anything else,” he promises.


	9. Chapter 09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel fucks up. Sam fucks up. Dean fucks up. Castiel fucks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I've had to slow down on posting chapters. Things are getting hectic at work, but I'll post as regularly as possible. Thank you for your continued support!

After her stint on the show, Ruby becomes quite the fixture in Sam’s life. Even two months later, she’s still around on the set, the cast and crew treating her like an old friend.

Dean, generally unfavorable towards the turn of events, ignores her mostly, and keeps to his avoidance policy when she shows up at the house for lunch one lazy Sunday at Sam’s behest. Dean, therefore, beats a quick retreat to the library after eating, jaw aching after an hour of fake smiles and small talk.

His relief morphs to surprise when he discovers his safe room is already occupied. “Gabe?” he says quizzically. He’d thought the man wasn’t even at the house since he hadn’t shown up when the food was ready. Far be it from Gabriel Milton to actually refuse a meal normally.

Gabriel looks up from where he’s curled up in one of the overstuffed armchairs, laptop resting against the arm. “Dean,” he greets dully. “What can I do ya for?”

Dean sits beside him on the matching chair on the other side of the small table, strangely worried about him. It’s an entirely new response to the guy, and he’s not convinced he’s totally comfortable with it. So he clears his throat. “Dude, you missed lunch. We thought you’d gone somewhere. Sam texted you and everything.”

“Ah,” Gabriel sighs. “Left my phone in my room.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up. Gabriel without his phone? Bullshit. The thing’s practically superglued to him. That’s the biggest red flag in the whole damn world. Guy’s basically screaming for help with a flashing neon sign and sirens blaring.  In a rare rush of generosity towards him, or perhaps off center at the odd positive feelings he’s having for him, Dean says, “don’t need to play the odds with me. You can tell me what’s really going on.”

Gabriel places his laptop on the table and brushes his shaggy hair back into a small ponytail in an effort to buy himself time. His shoulders are tensed with Dean’s unexpected niceness. “Look, Dean-o, I know how you feel about me, so you don’t gotta do this. You probably already know what it’s about, anyway,” he says after a minute.

Dean drags his leg up over the arm of the chair, slouching as much as humanly possible. He’s as physically exhausted as Gabriel is mentally exhausted. Two peas in a weird pod today. “Yeah, pretty sure you took to hiding for the same reason I did. But considering how ready you were to throw Ruby at Sam before, I don’t get why you’re holing up now that they did it on their own.”

Gabriel leans forward, hands dangling between his knees, head down. “I didn’t want to, that’s the thing. I just saw the profitable move and suggested it because it’s my damn job. Why do you care? You don’t like her, either.” He huffs. “Or me, for that matter.”

Dean’s quiet for a long time. He doesn’t want to be nosy. In fact he finds it a little hard to care about Gabriel digging himself into a pit after the shit he’s pulled. But... something in the guy’s face makes his heart go out to the goofy dude. He looks really drawn right now. Sad, somehow. Cautiously, he admits, “I don’t like what I think she’ll do to Sam.”

Gabriel gives him a pointed look. “Me, either.”

Oh. Oh! Oh, shit. Dean rocks back in his seat, realization dawning and slightly terrible. “Are you..? I mean, do you..?” He coughs. Wow, he is woefully unprepared for this. “Sam? Really?”

Gabriel shrugs miserably. “You gonna fire me?”

His kneejerk reaction is an immediate yes, but he bites it back because he’s an adult, and so is his little brother. His big-hearted, loving, trusting, awesome little brother. Who can make his own decisions and doesn’t need Dean to wipe his ass for him or keep the n’ere do wells away anymore. But, holy shit, he wishes that wasn’t the case in trying times such as these. “Gabe,” he sighs. “We don’t fire people for having feelings.”

“Sorry,” Gabriel says like the world is literally falling apart around him. In fact, now that Dean thinks about it, it probably is. Or might as well be. Throwing the guy under the bus would only add insult to injury. And it’s not like he can blame someone for their feelings. Gabriel is a self-indulgent ass, but at his core, he’s not a bad guy. And he’s done a lot of good by Sam Winchester. That ain’t nothing.

“It’s not up to me to remind you of what’s at stake here,” Dean says. “But... Sam’s your client, man.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gabriel moans piteously. “Would you believe me if I said this hasn’t ever happened to me before?”

Dean gives the man a truly searching look. One of the reasons he doesn’t totally hate Gabriel is because he wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s easy to read. And when he so much as tries to hide something, it’s as obvious as the elegant nose on his face. And in that moment, seeing how unhappy he is, Dean realizes that his mild dislike of Gabriel has everything to do with the fact that he’s pretty much always known that he’s been attracted to Sam. But big brothers do prefer willful ignorance. Imagine that. Over a year of Gabriel keeping his mouth shut and dealing with Sam’s obliviousness. That’s tenacity, which Dean admires. And if Sam really _does_ end up getting as close to Ruby Cortese as they’re all fearing he will, then Gabriel will suffer enough without Dean adding to it. He ventures, “mixing business with pleasure is a freaking terrible idea.”

Gabriel’s hazel eyes rake over Dean. He tries to smirk, but it fades with his melancholy. “You really sure you wanna be saying that to me, Winchester?”

Dean’s eyes narrow, and a bubble of brief panic settles into his throat. How? How in the hell? There’s no way Gabriel’s figured it out of nowhere! Right? He keeps his face carefully neutral, saying nothing.

Gabriel doesn’t need a tell, though. He may not have the training, but he can read people, too. It’s why he’s so aggravatingly good at his job. “I heard you and Cassie fucking.” Or not.

Jesus. Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “What the fuck.”

Gabriel shrugs.

He’s so lackadaisical about it, that it pisses Dean off in less than a second. He jumps out of his chair and rounds on the shorter man. Gabriel holds his hands up, scrunching up even further. “Don’t kill me okay?” he hollers in a rush. “I didn’t say anything to anyone, I swear! I didn’t even stay to listen! I heard it, did a double take, heard it again, and then I went on my merry way. No one suspects a thing! Total accident! Never to be repeated!”

Dean plants his hands on the backrest to either side of Gabriel’s head. He levels him with his darkest look. Gabriel blinks at him. He’s telling the truth. “Breathe a word, and I’ll shoot you.”

“I believe you.”

He pushes back and resumes his seat. “Great. Fine. So, back to the task at hand. I don’t have a leg to stand on. I get it. But I never said what me ‘n Cas were doing was smart, either.”

“Sounded fun, though!” Gabriel halts himself again when Dean looks like he’s about to jump him for real. “Sorry.” Then he’s back to the issue. “Look, I hadn’t planned on dropping to one knee for Sam, or nothin’. He’s the best actor on my payroll. And the most honest. Your brother...” he scratches at his chin, searching for the words. “Samshine is the Holy Grail, y’know? Honest, nice, and he can get away with that because he’s got more talent than most of the hacks in his age group. He doesn’t need to be babysat because he doesn’t misbehave. He’s the whole package, and I was the luckiest man alive when his headshot fell into my lap.”

It’s enough to chase away Dean’s preoccupation with his own panic. Gabriel is devoted. Not just to Sam as a potential golden goose, but he’s also invested in Sam’s happiness. Just like Dean is. Just like Castiel is. Just like everyone who _actually_ cares about Sam is. “You need to be honest with him,” Dean decides, offering up some advice in a show of good faith.  “You know him. The longer you go on withholding, the more Sam’ll get his panties in a twist about it. He’ll be too busy being angry at you to make out with you.”

Gabriel pushes out a humorless laugh. “No shit.”

“So?” Dean demands irritably when Gabriel doesn’t show him the proper deference for his brilliant advice. “What are you gonna do?”

Gabriel shrugs helplessly. “Nothing.”

“Why not?” He breathes out a pained groan. Clearly he needs to go a step further. “I’m only gonna be nice this once, so listen up: you’re not the worst option.”

Gabriel smiles wryly and turns the laptop screen towards Dean. It’s a long shot photo taken by some intrepid paparazzo with a telephoto lens. It shows Sam opening the door of the town car for Ruby. And he’s kissing her. “I think my time is up,” he says softly. “I missed my window.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

That night, Dean tells Castiel about what Gabriel had both wittingly, and unwittingly revealed to him. Castiel is a mix of sympathetic towards Gabriel, and worried about the development with Ruby. He says he’ll bring their concerns to Sam directly, figuring it might be better received from a friend rather than an aggressively disapproving older brother.

“He knows about us, too,” Dean tacks on flippantly, helping Castiel out of his hoodie and undershirt.

Castiel startles and whips around to face Dean. “How? What happened? Did he overhear us on the radio?”

“No,” Dean answers, stepping even closer and pressing kisses along Castiel’s neck and collarbone. “He walked by the room and heard us fucking.” He chuckles warm against Castiel’s mouth. “We probably scarred him for life.”

Castiel kisses back willingly enough, but then he pulls back, brow furrowed in concern. “You don’t seem upset by this. What if it gets back to Sam?”

“It won’t,” Dean promises, not to have his amorous advances put off. “Gabe won’t say anything. I already talked to him about it.”

Castiel finally allows the attention, unzipping Dean’s hoodie in turn and pressing his hands up under his henley. “Did you talk to him or pull your gun on him?”

“Hey,” Dean admonishes with mild insult. “I wasn’t even wearing my gun.”

Frustratingly, Castiel pulls back again, cupping Dean’s face in his hands. “You’re _really_ not worried about this?”

Dean gives him a hard look. Getting a little lost in the sea of blue. Worried? No. He can’t be. Whatever happens, they’ll still be together. They’ll deal with it. “No, ‘cause it won’t matter. I won’t give you up. I mean, yeah, it’s better to keep it between us for the sake of keeping the status quo, but whatever happens, I’m keeping this as long as I can.”

The next kiss from Castiel urges them back towards the bed. They go down in a fairly graceful heap, hands removing clothing, mouths searching out all the skin that they can reach. Castiel seems to have found some ardor at last, wasting no time in slotting himself against Dean, thrusting into the hollow of his hip.

Dean rolls them over so he’s on top, pressed so tightly to Castiel that they can’t get much friction from motion, but it doesn’t matter. Not for either of them. The closeness of it, the intimacy, is plenty. Their mouths part only to briefly seek out another spot, but they always come back together.

They’re tangled and warm, and it’s spectacular. They come almost at the same time, shaking through their release, painting Dean’s hands with it. They don’t even have to move that much to reach the tissues to clean themselves up with. Afterwards, Dean holds Castiel against his chest, running his fingers through his soft brown hair until the man melts against him like a chocolate bar left in the sun. Despite that, though, he’s being suspiciously quiet. And still.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks eventually, voice slightly sex-hoarse.

“Yes,” Castiel confirms, cuddling closer to Dean’s heat. “It’s just that... you’re making it easy to fall in love with you.”

Dean’s chuckle is indulgent. “I’m a lot more agreeable when my clothes are off.”

Castiel sits up only enough to kiss him teasingly on the lips. “I won’t argue that point.”

“It’s true,” Dean grins. “I know my flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw,” Castiel disagrees lightly, resettling. “It keeps me on my toes.”

“Guess I won’t go changing, then,” Dean says.

“Please don’t,” Castiel says. “Not ever.”

“Okey dokey,” Dean says happily, settling in for a lazy afternoon languishing in bed, and not at all guilty about it. “Whatever you say, Cas.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

After dinner, Castiel gives a much more polite goodbye to Ruby and begs off to get more work done. As much as he’s around people all the time, one wouldn’t think he was an introvert, but Castiel finds a bone deep relief in being able to shut the world out behind his bedroom door. He takes care of the necessary business, and then turns to less urgent matters, like his unreasonably popular Twitter account while the festivities taper off downstairs without him.

Once the house is quiet again, he goes to the kitchen to make tea. It’s steeping in his mug when the garage access door opens, and Sam steps in. He stops short for a second, but quickly recovers, shooting his friend a lopsided smile. “Hey, Cas,” he greets with far too much casual cheer to be realistic.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel greets just as casually because it seems like the proper thing to do. “Has Ms. Cortese left?”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just saw her out.”

Sensing that he’s completely out of his element here, Castiel merely says, “ah.”

Sam leans against the island, watching Castiel add honey to his tea. “So, hey. Have you seen Gabriel around? He said he was gonna stay here for a few days to work on some stuff with Charlie before we left for Squamish, and I saw his car out front, but...”

“He’s here,” Castiel confirms. “He and Charlie were in the office last I saw them.”

“Cool,” Sam says, tracing the whorls of color on the granite countertop. He shifts from side to side. “Um... is he avoiding me?”

Castiel sighs. He knows that in these situations, tact is usually appreciated, but he’s never been that type of person, and Sam is just as good as Dean at wiggling through tactfully placed loopholes. Plus, Sam often appreciates his bluntness, so he says, “yes, I believe he is.”

Sam looks pained. “It’s Ruby, isn’t it? He’s pissed I got to know her after I told him I didn’t want to play his publicity game, and now he won’t get credit.”

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard it nearly gives him a headache. “Sam,” he says firmly. “That’s not why. Gabriel isn’t going to hold a grudge. In this case...” he faces Sam squarely. “It’s personal for him. You need to talk to him. Soon.”

Sam’s eyes widen in shock. “Personal? What did I do? If it’s not about me being a big, old hypocrite, then what?”

Castiel picks up his mug. “Talk to him,” he repeats. “Please. It’s best not to have these discussions third party.”

Sam nods uncertainly. “Yeah. I... yeah, okay. I mean. God, it’s just like I feel things have gotten really complicated between me and Gabe. More than normal, anyway.”

So he’s not fully oblivious after all. In that case, Castiel relents. He gestures and they both make their way to the table to sit down. “I get that impression,” he admits.

Sam sighs like he’s relieved to hear it, which is moderately confusing to Castiel. “So I’m not the only one who thinks he’s been acting weird around me?”

“No,” Castiel confirms. He knows why, but it isn’t his place to truly elaborate. “He’s always been strange, but more so in recent weeks.”

Sam laces his fingers together, leaning forward on his arms. “I guess I’m just nervous to approach him. I don’t want him to resign as my manager or anything. I don’t wanna fire him. He’s amazing at what he does most of the time, and I’m grateful for the opportunities he’s given me. It’s just... the second I started doing something he wanted on my own, he’s pissed and can’t be around me for more than a few minutes except to talk business.”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “He’s a complicated man under his bluster and lewd jokes.”

Sam huffs a small laugh. “I know, right? But... it’s like... I dunno, I feel like I miss him even when he’s around.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says, frowning.

“He’s never been distant with me like he is now. At first, sometimes he even made me uncomfortable being so freaking _open_ all the time. Oversharing and all that. But now he’s all business and no pleasure.”

“I don’t know about that,” Castiel mutters sarcastically.

“You know something,” Sam says accusingly.

Castiel gives him a steady look. “That’s why I told you to speak with him directly.”

Sam sighs. “You’re right. I don’t mean to put anything extra on you.”

Castiel reaches out and covers his hand reassuringly. “That’s what I’m here for. Friends can, and should, tell each other anything they need to get off their chests. But there’s a point when the best ear isn’t the best friend.”

Sam smiles wryly. “It’s easier, though.”

Castiel smiles back. “I’m not debating that.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Monday, at least, is a soundstage day. Dean loves those. It means they don’t have to keep quite as strict an eye on Sam as normal since it’s a closed set, and they’ve become familiar with the regular cast and crew over the past several weeks, thus making it easier to spot someone who doesn’t belong.

And Sam is in his element because the day’s schedule is packed with stunts. String him up or tell him to break down a door, and he’s as happy as a pig in shit. By the lunch break, he’s fallen off a building ten times and is having the best day ever. He’s downright cheerful when he piles his plate with food and instead of going back to his trailer to eat, sits down with the crew to chat while he stuffs his face.

Dean takes his lunch away from the noise, but Sam still remains in his field of vision. Castiel has wandered off, but that’s pretty typical on their breaks. He’s sure he’s close enough if anything happens.

He’s obviously still in range of the radios because his voice crackles over the line. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam so happy before.”

Dean chuckles. “I was thinking the same thing.”

When the crew is called back to start, Dean hangs back to enjoy his peace a little longer. A few minutes after the set bell rings, there’s a warm hand on the back of his neck. He smiles. It’s familiar. He doesn’t say anything, just gets to his feet and steps around his chair to meet Castiel in a private, stolen moment for a kiss. It lingers in the best way.

“What did I do to earn that?” Castiel pulls back with a smile.

“It’s not always about the reward,” Dean answers. He gives in to the urge to loosen Castiel’s tie and undo the top button of his dress shirt.

“Even when we could be seen?”

Dean shrugs. “We won’t be. Not over here.”

Castiel takes that as permission for another kiss which Dean drinks in. He allows himself to be pushed back further behind some discarded set pieces. The illicit feeling is a little bit addictive, and Castiel appears to feel the same way.

It’s easy to lose track of the time in Castiel’s orbit, which he does. Which they both do. The lazy kisses between them only lapse for words of affection and eventually Dean’s earpiece slips out unheeded.

A serious make out session is on the way, but it’s interrupted by a resounding crash from the set.

Castiel startles so violently that he accidentally bites Dean’s tongue.

But there’s no time for apologies. By pure instinct they’re running towards the source of the chaos, fixing their clothes and their radios. And what they find is Dean’s worst nightmare. Or damn close to it. There are a lot of people running back and forth, but he zeroes in on a small group huddled next to a gym mat, all still like the eye of a hurricane. Dean bodily shoves a few people out of the way to find Sam sprawled on the concrete next to the mat, clutching his arm, face screwed up with pain.

Dean drops to his knees beside his brother, ripping off his jacket and easing it under his head. “Easy, Sammy,” he says, heart in his throat.

Castiel is both in his ear and on his phone saying, “Benny, bring the car around. Sam’s injured. We need to get him to the hospital. Quickly and quietly.”

Dean turns off his radio and yanks out his earpiece. “Goddammit,” he mutters. “What happened?” he demands of no one in particular.

One of the set medics is beside him, gently helping to brace Sam’s arm and get him up since he didn’t hit his head. A stunt coordinator explains, “he took the jump off the platform too far. Overshot the landing.”

“I’m fine,” Sam says between gritted teeth, clearly the opposite.

“You might have a broken arm,” Dean argues, standing on Sam’s bad side so he doesn’t bump into anyone accidentally and jar his arm worse.

Castiel falls into step on his other side. “Benny’s at the gate.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam breathes, pale and shaking. He can barely walk, but Dean’s the one who seems closest to tears.

They make it to the hospital without issue. Dean is silent the entire time. He sits in the waiting room staring blankly at the TV until a fan recognizes Sam and attempts to approach him. Wordlessly, Dean surges to his feet, scaring the woman immediately, only stopped from chasing her down by Castiel’s hand on his elbow, which he promptly shrugs off.

He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him all the damn time. In the exam room, in the private room they set Sam up in once a few to many nurses try for an autograph, in the car home. It’s making his skin crawl.

And Sam, drugged up and broken arm set, doesn’t raise any questions or concerns on the way back. Gabriel calls to tell them that filming will be held as long as needed, and Sam feels so guilty about it, that he mopes straight to his room, leaving Castiel and Dean with silence and heavy air between them.

Dean caves first. “That shouldn’t have happened,” he says.

Castiel deflates, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going to speak with the stunt director tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Castiel looks up, weary and wary at Dean’s strange tone. “What _do_ you mean?”

Dean starts to shift from foot to foot, excess agitation finally starting to manifest after hours of staying bottled up. “It’s not the stunt people or Sam who screwed up here.”

“That makes no sense,” Castiel counters, squinting in confusion. “They were in change of all safety procedures. However, from what I gathered, they followed all their protocols well. Sometimes people get hurt doing stunts because it’s the nature of the beast.”

“Fuck’s sake, you don’t get it, do you?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, displeased with ire he doesn’t deserve, Castiel says, “no, frankly, I don’t.”

Dean spreads his hands. “It’s my fucking fault.”

Castiel’s mind boggles. Now he understands even less than before. Dean can’t possibly be serious. “I’m sorry, what? How is any of this your fault?”

Dean begins pacing the room. Back and forth. “Jesus, it’s... I was so tied up in you - flirting with you - I took my attention off Sam. I could have seen what was about to happen! I could have fucking stopped it! I would have known... I dunno, _something_ if I’d kept my earpiece in, or... _fuck_!”

Castiel sighs, watching Dean pace. “There were professionals watching him the entire time. There was nothing that anyone could have done to prevent the accident. That’s why it’s an accident.”

Dean snorts. “Accidents don’t just happen accidentally.”

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

“Goddammit, Cas, you know what I mean!”

Castiel doesn’t back down from the yelling, or the fact that Dean keeps assuming that Castiel can read his mind. As unfair as it is, he knows it’s not really about him at all. He knows Dean. He knows how to deal with his emotional turmoil. He stands firm, stoic, and it kind of breaks Dean’s heart. “I do,” he says when Dean’s full attention is on him again. “I understand that you have always taken Sam’s health and safety personally, and that’s what you’re doing here, even though inherently, you recognize that this isn’t something you could control.”

Dean stands frozen, eyes as wide as they can get staring at Castiel gradually standing taller, voice hardening to that tone that usually turns him on, but for now is starting to piss him off. “Cas,” he says warningly.

He holds up a hand. “Please. I truly understand. I know exactly what you need.”

Dean tilts his chin up, weight on his back foot. “Yeah? Ya think so, Cas? You _really_ fucking think so?”

Castiel should have taken the warning, but when he’s on a roll, he’s convinced of his own rightness, so he continues, “I’ve always understood you in many ways. You need me to back off, so I will. We should put a halt to our more illicit relationship until we can decide what will work and what won’t. I’ll admit that I overstepped today at work. You said before that you prefer our personal and professional lives to be separate. I’ll respect that, and I apologize for the problems I’ve caused thus far.”

Dean can only gape. He _knows_ he has to say something to Castiel. Set him straight about the whole deal. It’s not his fault at all; Dean doesn’t believe that for a second. But red is edging into his vision, and he can’t think straight when he’s angry. He’s a man of action, after all. And he loses his window, because Castiel is patting him on the arm and then leaving him alone in the office with his roiling thoughts and deep seated anger. He’s shaking with it, but his feet won’t move.

By the time they do, Castiel is nowhere to be found. Sam is sleeping, and Gabriel and Charlie are no help.

Dean makes a full circuit of the house, ending up by the back door. It’s there he notices Castiel’s tennis shoes gone. He stares at the empty spot on the floor. Sets his jaw. “Wanna play that way?” he murmurs. “Fine.” He stomps back up the stairs. And he waits.

But Castiel’s not back an hour later. Or two hours later. Dean keeps his door open while he goes about his nightly routine. There’s not a single movement from the hallway while he brushes his teeth, changes into his sweats, tucks himself into bed. Pulls out his tablet to pretend he’s memorizing the schedule updates instead of keeping half an eye and both his ears open for anything at all. Of which there is nothing.

After three hours, Dean gives up studying and peeks out in the hall. Castiel’s bedroom door is open, room dark. Still not here. Still not home.

By midnight, Dean’s actually starting to worry slightly. He checks his phone. No messages or missed calls. Right. There’s no reason to sit fuming. Time to take initiative. He jabs out, _where are you?_

No matter what, Castiel never leaves texts unanswered. He is diligent about communication, rarely letting more than ten minutes pass before he’s responded. That’s not the case tonight. One in the morning, and there’s still nothing.

Dean paces his bedroom, tapping the cell phone against his forehead agitatedly, chewing on his thumbnail. Inherently, he knows nothing bad has happened. Castiel, the fucking pre-planner, has a hundred contingencies set up for any of them ending up in the hospital or jail or kidnapped or anything else less likely. He would have gotten a call.

Not wanting to disturb anyone already sleeping, Dean decides to text Benny as a last resort. The guy is a self-proclaimed night owl. He prefers to nap during the day while he’s not needed, and stays up most of the night doing God only knows.

Sure enough, a minute later, Benny texts back, _Cas asked for a lift to Squamish. Said he wanted to scope the place ahead of filming. Did he not tell you?_

Dean blinks at the message. What the actual _fuck_? First, Castiel assumes a hell of a lot about him without giving him a chance to answer. Then he turns tail and runs for the literal hills _two fucking days_ ahead of the rest of schedule with no word. What the hell? What the _hell_?!

Dean sucks down his anger for the moment. Not wanting to take it out on Benny, he quickly replies, _nah, it’s cool. Got caught up with Sam is all. Forgot he was leaving tonight._

Benny texts back a thumbs up emoji, and Dean tosses his phone to the bed.

Fuck this.

He doesn’t need this. Not now. Sam is injured, filming is set back half a day, and Castiel is in the wind. Well. In the wind enough for it to be really goddamn irritating. But if he wants to play the child, that’s fine. He can do that. He can assume shit up and down until he’s convinced he’s more right than anyone, then shoot off like a scared cat, but Dean ain’t gonna play that game. He can’t. He’s got a job to do, and a life to live, and if Castiel can’t understand him better than he has shown today, then fuck him.

Resolutely, Dean yanks the covers back, drops to the bed, and stares at the ceiling for the rest of the night. “Sonofabitch,” he mutters before slipping into a restless sleep for the two hours before his alarm goes off, welcoming him to a dreary, dull day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean have a talk.

Two days is a long time to deal with Castiel’s radio silence, but thankfully, Dean doesn’t have much time to wallow in it. The filming schedule has been fucked sideways, but Sam is determined to power through and not throw them off. The producers assure him that they can film the remaining scenes after the location shoot in Squamish, but Sam declines. If they trip up on their first season, they may not get a second.

However, in a stroke of luck, explaining Sam’s injury away on camera isn’t difficult. He was supposed to break his leg on the show, but the script is tweaked, and filming resumes only a half a day behind. At least the scheduled scenes the first day back all take place with Sam in some form of prone position on the floor, on a bed, in a hospital room. He’s still in a lot of pain, but gets through it, and the director is more than pleased. Sam calls it Method and downs the maximum dosage of pain medication.

And being able to get through the hiccups in production his first time out of the gate makes Sam proud of himself. Dean’s more than proud of him. Sam falls asleep in the car on the ride home. Dean’s pretty grateful for the reprieve, actually.

Of course, it doesn’t last. Sam may be hopped up on painkillers, but he does notice the distinct lack of Castiel around when Dean’s the only one hauling their suitcases down the stairs before breakfast the following morning.

Scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes while he trudges past the hallway, Sam asks gruffly, “Cas gone ahead of us?”

“Yeah,” Dean lies smoothly, counting on Sam to be far more interested in his own current problems to notice Dean’s. So far so good. “He took off last night for the hotel. Wanted to get everything checked out and set up before you got there. You, uh. You know how he is. Especially with you being hurt.”

Sam huffs. “I should pay him more.”

Dean trails behind him to the kitchen and goes straight for the coffee maker, waylaying Sam’s effort. “Guess I know who you like more, now.” He pours them both a full mug.

“Naturally. I like him better because I love you more.”

That actually makes Dean smile. “How you holding up?”

Sam rolls his good shoulder. “I’m okay. The pain meds sure work wonders. I might actually survive this one.”

Dean chuckles. That’s been a saying in their household for years from everything from the common cold to now, broken bones. “Get some more sleep. I’ll finish up packing.”

Sam nods sleepily a few times and then shuffles away. Despite the bravado, injury and work combined with no down time is really taking its toll.

Dean watches him go and then makes his way upstairs to his own room. Then down the hall to Castiel’s. He’s pretty sure the man hasn’t packed everything he’ll need for the couple weeks they’ll be at the hotel. His suspicions are confirmed when he turns on the light. Castiel’s room is immaculately clean as usual, but his suitcase is still in the closet, as are most of his suits. He can’t have taken more than a couple of shirts and slacks, if he took any at all in his mad dash to run away from home like a big goddamn baby.

Dean feels itchy going through someone’s room without their permission, but he shrugs it off and continues on his mission. If Castiel hadn’t wanted him to go through his goddamn room, he shouldn’t have been a jackass and taken off like an angsty teenager.

Despite being pissed off, he still takes care to pack Castiel’s suits in a garment bag, and all the folded clothes into the suitcase neatly so they won’t have to do a mess of ironing later. Exactly as Castiel packs for himself.

When he’s done, he closes the suitcase and collapses down onto the bed. He just can’t simmer down. Castiel Novak is a shithead. That’s what it boils down to. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get _Dean_. Never really has. And that’s the root of the issue for him. They’ve been together for a few months, and Dean has given him _everything_. Trusted him with every bit of his weaknesses. But that’s... he’s fucking _wrong_. He shouldn’t have trusted Castiel at all because the asshole presumed a whole lot of shit about him, while learning nothing at all. Pure fucking arrogance. He doesn’t deserve Dean’s trust. Certainly not his body.

The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. He yanks his cell phone out of his back pocket and opens Gmail. Quickly, he types: _You’re a dickhead, and here’s why. 1) You presume to know what I “need.” You don’t know what you’re talking about. You know what I want, but that has nothing to do with what I need. 2) You presume to know me at all. You know 2 years of me. That doesn’t make you an expert. 3) You ran the fuck away like a pansy. In conclusion, fuck you._ He mashes the send button before he can talk himself out of it.

It’s only a few minutes later when a response dings. Dreading it even though he was the one to start it, Dean opens the email. All it says is, _We should talk when you get here_.

Dean slaps his phone onto the bed, angrier by the second. That’s it? Jesus.

Asshole.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

When Sam and Dean arrive in Squamish the following morning, the hotel is a riot of activity. Dean eyes the crowds warily as Benny navigates around them to a private back entrance that the hotel’s manager had set up for them. “Jesus, what a nightmare,” Dean mutters.

Sam hums his agreement, though with the amount of painkillers in his system, it’s hard for him to eke out much in the way of concern over anything. He sits placidly beside Dean, yawning a little bit.

“Cas better fucking be here,” Dean continues, mood about as stormy as the incoming weather. “If he hadn’t gone ahead like a dumbass, this wouldn’t be an issue-” But the rest of his tirade is cut off by the sight of the man himself positioned squarely in front of the staff entrance at the loading dock, aviators on, scowl on his face, suit neat and pressed, ugly trench coat flapping in the breeze.

Goddammit. Dean’s heart thuds at the sight and he fucking hates himself a little bit more.

Castiel can’t see through the tinted windows, but his creepy mind reader skills prevail because he gestures with the small hand signals he and Dean had worked out ages ago when they were in situations that required silence, and tells him they’re in the clear.

“Coast is clear, let’s go,” Dean says to Sam.

“I’ll bring the bags around later,” Benny says.

“Thanks, man.” Dean pushes his door open, sliding out first, avoiding Castiel’s eyes for the moment in favor of double checking the parking garage. There’s no one suspicious, as expected, but it gives him some time for avoidance.

When Sam’s out of the car and they’re at the entrance, Castiel holds out keycards to the both of them. “The production team rented the whole floor. Club level, you need to use the keycard in the elevator to access the floor.”

Dean takes his and Sam’s card. “Thanks,” he says shortly. “Let’s get inside.”

Castiel nods, easily sensing Dean’s mood and allowing him some space. With an extra mild tint to his voice, he says, “I’ll wait for Benny. Help him with the luggage.”

“Good,” Dean says, ushering Sam through the doors and meeting the hotel’s manager, who guides them through the labyrinth of back hallways to the staff elevators.

He swipes his keycard at the door. “If you need to, please feel free to use these elevators at your convenience. We’ve banned the news media from loitering in the lobby, but there are many who are quite determined to camp outside.”

“Good to know,” Dean answers. “Your parking deck is secure?”

“Yes,” the manager confirms. “The garage can only be accessed by card. Mr. Novak has two for you and him, and I’ll make sure your driver gets one as well. The main levels of the parking deck are open to the public, but the delivery entrance is not. We also have security in place twenty-four, seven. We pride ourselves on the privacy and comfort of our more famous guests.”

“I appreciate it,” Sam answers with a warm smile since Dean isn’t so obliging today. “Thanks for going out of your way.”

Graciously, the manager replies, “think nothing of it. It’s our pleasure.” The doors open and the manager holds his hand out to let Sam and Dean out before him. “Your rooms are at the end of the hall, number 2270. It’s the presidential suite. The rest of the cast and crew are in all the other rooms. I believe the suite next to yours has been set up as an office.”

He unlocks the suite’s door, and pushes it open. “If you need anything at all, please pick up one of the phones and dial zero, three. That’s management’s extension. We’ll see to all your needs.”

“Thanks,” Dean grunts, shouldering around them to go inside first. He makes a quick sweep of the large space to get a feel for the place and also check for any lurkers, as impossible as that may be. As moody as he is, even he has to admit that the suite is really freaking nice. There are two bedrooms, a living room that’s bigger than Dean’s first apartment, full kitchen, and a sitting room. They’ll definitely be living large for the time being.

Of course, he loses a bit of confidence in his assessment when he sees the room that he and Castiel will be sharing. There’s one bed. Of course there is. One fucking bed. It’s a king, sure, but they’re two large men. There’s no way they’ll be able to share it without bumping into one another, and frankly, that’s not what Dean wants to be doing right now.

As if on cue, there’s a rustle in the doorway and Dean turns to see Castiel standing there with their bags, sunglasses and coat removed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean says without preamble.

“Dean,” Castiel says, sounding tired.

“No,” Dean says firmly, pointing a finger at Castiel. “I’m not ready to do this with you right now. First of all, Sam’s awake and his painkillers don’t make him stupid enough to be oblivious. Two, you’re the one who ran away like an asshole. So you’re the one who gets to wait now. We clear?”

A strange kind of chagrin flickers over Castiel’s face, though he doesn’t disagree. “I understand. Please take your time. You definitely deserve that from me.”

“Fine,” Dean grits. “Just... do us both a favor and stay the hell away for now. I’m mad enough as it is.”

Castiel nods. “Fair enough. I’ll go to the ready room. It’s right next door. We keep the door propped open when there’s someone in there. Otherwise, you can find a spare keycard on the table in the foyer. And… thank you for bringing my clothes.”

Dean turns his back, but is still acutely aware when Castiel leaves. The man walks as silently as a ninja, but there’s some kind of energy that leaves with him. It’s a weird sensation, being happy and upset about the loss of it all at once. For the moment, Dean lets it ride since the alternative is running after him like a complete jackass.

But by the time Benny’s brought the rest of the luggage up and everything’s squared away, a few hours clocked in with crew about security on the location shoot, dinner ordered from room service and eaten, Dean’s working on a monster of a headache. Plus, it’s finally starting to get late after what feels like a never ending day. Sam’s in his room sleeping as much as possible while he’s healing, and late night TV blows. Slowly, Dean slides sideways until he’s laying down, eyes unfocused on the television.

He’s not sure if he fell asleep or just zoned out, but one minute there’s an infomercial on about some hard sucking vacuum, and the next he’s blinking around Castiel’s legs to see a rerun of _Jail_.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says softly.

Dean groans as he sits up, rubbing his gummy eyes. “The hell time is it?”

“Just after midnight. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll sleep here. It’s a pull out, and my back tends to handle those better.”

Dean scrubs harder at his face, trying to dispel the cobwebs.

However, Castiel must have taken the gesture as a prelude to a fight because he starts to talk again. Quick, halting, and totally out of character. “That is... I mean... you always complain about bad mattresses, and... well... shit.” He grimaces, but Dean doesn’t stop him. Just blinks slowly, bleary, trying to get his brain functioning again. Trying to wrap his mind around Castiel using a real vulgarity in normal conversation. Rubbing the back of his neck, Castiel says, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” Dean puffs a breath. “Dean, I’m really not. It’s just a suggestion. If you’re fine here...” he trails off, eyes pleading and lost in the hole he’s dug himself into.

Dean gets to his feet. The mature, grown up part of him wants to assure Castiel that he didn’t take his suggestion as anything other than what it was. But it’s late, and his uglier, petty side likes to make appearances in trying times such as these. So, without a second glance, he shuffles to the bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

Castiel doesn’t even try to follow.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

For the life of him, Castiel can’t sleep. He’d been doing fine-ish for the last two days, but Dean’s _here_ now. And he’s pissed. One door separates them, and yet Castiel’s melancholy is prone to over dramatization, so it feels like it might as well be a solid steel wall.

He deserves it. He’s not sure _why_ Dean reacted so strongly the other day, but the why isn’t important at present. There’s definitely more to it than just what was in the short email. The how to make it better is what to focus on right now. If and when Dean decides to speak to him again, they’ll work on the why so Castiel doesn’t risk something like this again. It _can’t_ happen again. Dean is... well, Dean is just too goddamn important to him to be hurt in ways he doesn’t approve of. It must go deep, though. Castiel can sense that much. He only hopes that the eggshells aren’t actually landmines and that he damaged their relationship beyond repair.

It’s useless to sleep with his mind running through endless scenarios of varying degrees of catastrophe, so Castiel figures he might as well be productive.

The ready room door is shut, so Castiel swipes his key, glad to be alone. Until he realizes that he’s not. “Gabriel,” he says, only mildly surprised to see him on the sofa, channel surfing and typing on his laptop simultaneously. Clearly everyone who loves a Winchester is having a long night.

“Hey, Cassie,” Gabriel greets, sounding much more like his old self than before. “You exiling yourself, too? You said you were going to bed two hours ago.”

“That doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen,” Castiel admits, grabbing a cold bottled water from the room’s fridge.

“Deany freeze you out?”

“As expected.” He folds himself onto the couch. “As deserved.”

“You’re a perfect couple,” Gabriel mutters, turning his attention back to his computer. “One is into punishment and the other into self-flagellation. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, or is Dean actually the Dom?”

Castiel shoots his friend a sour look. “That’s really none of your business.”

“No, but it sure detracts from my own self-imposed suffering, so there ya go.”

“It’s your own fault you haven’t spoken to Sam,” Castiel answers, not at all in the mood to be charitable.

Neither is Gabriel. “Sam’s broken right now. What’s _your_ excuse?”

Wilting under the hypocrisy, Castiel admits, “Dean kicked me out, and I must respect that. He wasn’t ready to talk.”

“Huh.”

Castiel watches him more closely. “What?” he demands.

“Usually you’re the type to bull rush ahead anyway. You going soft on me, amigo?”

Castiel scoffs. “Not hardly. I care about Dean. I need to respect his feelings. I’m not sure what set him off so thoroughly, but I think it’s more than just on the surface.”

“The Winchesters are good at that shit,” Gabriel answers. “But they always come around if they care enough.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Castiel says uneasily.

Gabriel shrugs. “Those brothers only get angry because they have to before they can get real. Give it a sec. Dean’ll come around.”

Castiel smiles wanly. “I hope you’re right.”

“Good thing about me?” Gabriel says brazenly. “I always am.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The next morning, Castiel wakes up extra early with the idea of soaking in the bathtub to rid himself of the impressive backache the fold out couch gave him, but his plan is hindered when he finds Dean dressed, sitting on the bed in their shared room, and definitely waiting for him to arrive. The effort it must have taken him to wake up extra early to prepare himself is both impressive and makes Castiel ache for some reason he can’t quite understand.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel says carefully.

“Mornin’,” Dean answers dully. “Can we talk?”

The way he says it shoots absolute terror down from the top of his head to his toes. _This is it_ , Castiel thinks miserably. _This is where I’ve taken us that I can’t bring us back from. The more I love someone, the more I mess it up._ His ears are buzzing, but somehow Dean’s words start to break through eventually.

“I know I got pissed at you for a good reason, but you’re probably thinking I overreacted a little,” he’s saying.

Castiel does his best to shake himself out of his own spiraling thoughts to focus. This doesn’t sound like an immediate breakup talk. Hope springs eternal, and also very small. “I don’t...” he pauses. Chooses his words carefully so as not to set either of them off again. Calm is the best way, after all. “I’m not sure if you did or not,” he allows eventually. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I was out of line. Severely. I shouldn’t have assumed anything about you. I shouldn’t have acted like your Dom when we weren’t in a scene. Unfortunately, I have the bad habit of falling back onto that attitude when I’m thrown off guard. It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have done it, and then escaped your judgment by walking out. For that, I’m sorry.”

Dean nods along while he’s talking. Either accepting the apology, or expecting it. “It hit me the wrong way, is all. There’s a lot... well, there’s shit in my past that makes me extra touchy about people assuming what I feel. What I need. Who I am. Has, uh,” he scratches absently at his chest, broadcasting extreme discomfort that makes Castiel long to reach out and soothe it away. “Has Sam said anything about our childhood? Before he went to Stanford?”

Castiel shakes his head. But it feels like a long conversation is ahead of them. In the interest of making them both more comfortable he asks, “may I sit?”

Dean inclines his head towards the bed. Castiel sits cross legged, facing Dean and waiting for him to reciprocate. Collect himself. It takes a moment, but he shuffles around to mirror Castiel’s posture. “What do you know about our past?” he asks, staring at the unobtrusive circular pattern on the neutrally colored down comforter.

“Not much,” Castiel says. “Sam spoke some of himself during our time together in college, though he rarely spoke about you personally. He told me about your mother dying when you were children. The fire... he told me what he remembered. Some of his stories included you, so that I had an idea of who you were before we met, but he never betrayed your confidence even slightly. In fact, I once asked why you hadn’t come to California after your father died, and Sam only told me that you were working through your life in your own way.”

Dean huffs a small amused sound. “Sounds about right. Actually, he doesn’t remember a lot of what went down with Dad back then. I think... I _hope_ I sheltered him from a lot of it. I mean, Sam wasn’t dumb. He saw some of it. He knew. But most of it... better him than me, y’know?”

Castiel doesn’t know, but he suspects he knows what Dean’s trying not to say, and it leaves a sick sadness in his chest that burns like reflux. “Dean, was your father...?” He can’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t want to make it any more real. For either of them.

“He was an asshole,” Dean says decisively, looking Castiel squarely in the eyes. “He spent his whole life running around the country with me and Sam in tow looking for the guy who set fire to the house. He never found him. All he did was slowly start to drink more, leave his kids in shitty motel rooms for days at a time, and expect me to be mom and dad to Sam. And whenever I screwed up...” He rubs his jaw in phantom memory. Shakes his head morosely.

Castiel touches Dean’s arm briefly and withdraws. Just to let him know there’s a grounding presence. Dean doesn’t jerk away, but doesn’t respond to the touch, either.

“Sometimes I think the old man really was trying his best. But he didn’t know how to go about it all on his own. Couldn’t get over Mom. I understood that part. But the rest of it? We could’a had a pretty decent childhood, but we didn’t. Not by a long shot. And Dad always told me to look out for Sammy. Protect Sammy. Pay the price if I didn’t. ‘This is what you have to do, Dean. This is how you have to be. Forget everything else. Sammy needs you.’ Such bullshit to put on kid.”

Castiel sighs. “So, when I presumed to overstep and tell you I knew what you needed...”

Dean nods. “Too much John Winchester for my taste.”

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmurs. It’s worse than he could have imagined. On some level, he knew that the Winchester brothers had a much different childhood than he’d had. But he’d never dared to imagine the truly terrible reality. “Can I... can I ask what changed? You eventually came to California and changed your life, didn’t you?”

Dean sits back on his hands. “Yeah. Well, Dad died and I became a cop. Figured it would be a better way to find the guy who killed Mom rather than just chasing ghosts. At least with a badge, I’d have plenty of resources.”

“Did you find him?” Castiel asks, hopeful.

“He’s serving life now,” Dean says with the hint of his usual prideful smirk back. “I found him a couple years after the old man died. I felt pretty shitty that he didn’t get to know the guy got caught, but...” he shrugs helplessly. “Then I was done. Sam wanted to get into acting, so I came out to help him. Thought it was the best way since I actually had the training to protect him now, and I’d been doing it since I was a kid, anyway. But this way, it was my choice. It’s what _I_ wanted.”

“That makes all the difference,” Castiel says. “If I had known all of this before-”

Dean shakes his head to cut Castiel off. “You still would’a felt that way, man. That doesn’t change. That’s why I’m pissed.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up. Dean was thinking this whole time that Castiel wanted to control him every second of the day? That that’s what he’s looking for in a partner? It couldn’t be further from the truth. An equal exchange of power doesn’t have to be all the time. Especially for Castiel. He wants to earn Dean’s submission more than anything. Not demand it. Not presume it. There’s nothing healthy about that in the slightest. “Oh,” he says surprised. “I... Dean, that’s not actually how I feel. It’s not how I felt then, either.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean returns, “then why would you say something like that?”

Castiel clasps his hands in his lap, fiddling with his fingers. “It’s a defense mechanism.”

Dean laughs shortly, disbelieving. “What the fuck.”

“I know,” Castiel says in consternation. “It’s a terrible personality trait. Sometimes when I find myself unable to react calmly or rationally to a situation, I draw on my dominant nature to defend myself. I hate it about myself. I don’t _need_ to be right all the time, but I often think I am. Likewise, I don’t _need_ to be in control all the time, but I can’t help trying to be when I shouldn’t. And for that, I wronged you terribly. I can’t excuse that. Again, I can only apologize. I should _never_ fall back on being a Dom when we’re outside of a scene. It’s manipulative and wrong.”

He wishes that Dean would reach out and touch him - give him any sign that they’re crawling back from the brink, but he doesn’t. “I appreciate the apology,” Dean says eventually.

“I appreciate you telling me about your past,” Castiel returns, heart sinking. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

A calloused hand stroking over his knuckles startles him. “I need some more time to think. And you probably do, too.”

The meaning isn’t lost on Castiel, and what Dean’s asking for is more than fair. Incredibly understanding. “I suppose I do,” he agrees. “I may have insight into my attitude, but that doesn’t mean I should let it keep happening just because I know about it.”

Dean smiles a little. “Yeah. Hey. You look scared.”

Castiel instinctively reaches up to touch his face, confirming the frown. “I am.”

“Why?”

Sighing, Castiel says, “I’m afraid you’re going to break up with me.”

Dean’s shocked expression is nearly comical. “What?”

“Do you want to break up?” Castiel asks.

“Do _you_?”

“I asked you first,” Castiel says petulantly.

“I don’t break up over hurt feelings one time,” Dean says with a frown.

“I realize that,” Castiel answers, wishing he felt more relief than he does. “But you _would_ break up with someone who did something unforgivable, wouldn’t you?”

“Jesus.” Dean sifts his hand through his hair. “Cas, man, you didn’t do something unforgivable. While you’re doing all that self-reflection you promised, maybe add your damn catastrophic thinking to the list.”

Castiel bites back the instinctual retort because Dean may not actually be wrong. “Of course. So... then, you’re asking for space. Not necessarily an end to our relationship.”

Dean nods once. “So do you. We really need to sort this shit out, Cas. Before it goes any further and hurt feelings are the least of our problems.”

“I do agree,” Castiel says, possibly too quickly. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“You’re super fucking formal when you’re nervous.” His small grin is pretty unmistakable now.

“Another poor habit,” Castiel mutters.

“Hey.” Dean reaches forward and strokes a single finger across Castiel’s jawline. “That part I like. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

Castiel leans into Dean’s touch until it withdraws. “Please let me know when you’re ready to reassess.”

“Will do.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean work our their issues. **NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags for this chapter:**  
>  Vanilla sex  
> Top!Dean  
> Bottom!Castiel
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift to you for putting up with an author who can't seem to post on a regular schedule!

In some ways, Dean wishes that he could burden his brother with the knowledge of his relationship with Castiel. His mind is doing nothing but swirl the drain and there’s nothing he can do about it. Like hell he’ll talk to Gabriel about any of this, and there’s no one else he trusts enough.

Day 0, as Dean thinks of it, is fine. Castiel smiles at him as usual over his morning cup of coffee, moving around him with ease and casual touches that they’ve become accustomed to in the past year, even before this mess happened. But it’s only for the morning. Castiel seems to sense Dean’s hesitance once they’re both awake and in their work clothes. As soon as they’re out of the car and on set for the day, Castiel takes up his post without comment. Dean watches him go silently, his need for both physical and emotional distance greater than his libido. Which actually makes him feel _super_ weird.

Every few hours he catches sight of Castiel on set, or in the hotel, smiling at someone or sharing a laugh with Sam, and his heart aches for the man. With how much he feels for him. And then later he’s hurtling down the pipes again at suffering hurt upon hurt inadvertently or on purpose thanks to their unconventional relationship. And his own brain is a poor sounding board. At least the suffering is manageable.

Days 2 and 3 aren’t all that bad, either, though Castiel pulls away further gradually every day. Dean knows it’s not avoidance, and that’s the only thing that keeps him from getting properly pissed off. Castiel sends him longing looks with tinges of understanding before handing him a cup of coffee and walking away immediately to start their mornings.

Day 4 marks the one week anniversary of their fiasco, and Dean’s finally starting to go into withdrawal. Or something that he considers very close to it. For a while, he hides it just fine. It’s the first time in his life that his abrasive personality works in his favor. No one notices much of a change when he snaps quicker than usual, or doesn’t engage in willing conversation during breaks or at the hotel.

There’s no outlet for it. It buzzes under his skin in the worst way, making him jumpy and agitated. Extra annoying that Castiel seems perfectly fine. His voice over the radio is calm, stance relaxed, pleasant in the off hours.

God, it’s fucking irritating.

And he knows that he’s the one being illogical about the whole thing. Castiel is being respectful of what he’d promised. To leave Dean well enough alone until he’s ready to take the next step. It would be awesome if Dean even knew what the next step was, much less how to take it. So he stews and watches and waits. For what, he has no idea.

It’s their last day in Squamish when Dean gets the out he needs to move things along again.

The final day of location filming is going great. Sam is starting to feel better, his fans who have discovered his whereabouts, are being respectful of the barricades the crew have set up, and the schedule goes smoothly. They’re caught up like Sam’s accident never happened when they wrap to go back to Vancouver.

Over the lunch break Sam actually retreats to his trailer, but leaves the door open. A few minutes later, Dean spots Gabriel heading in after him. Curious, he creeps over, casually staying out of sight and leaning against the outer wall.

Over the radio he hears an amused, “when did you become a spy?”

It’s the first non-job related thing Castiel has said to him in a week, and it’s like a welcoming blast of fragrant summer air. Dean grins and glances across the lot to where Castiel is lounging against the Impala, sipping a can of Coke. “Someone had to since you’re too lazy to do it.”

“I’m on break,” Castiel deadpans, saluting with his soda.

“Sure ya are,” Dean returns dryly. “You just want all the gossip without doing any of the work.”

“I thought that was what having a partner was for.”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean laughs. “Can’t you see I’m spying?”

“Get to it, then,” Castiel answers, smile evident in his voice since it’s hard to see him from that far away.

Dean does. He tries to look as inconspicuous as possible, though that probably makes him look even more suspicious. But thanks to his bad attitude for the past week, no one approaches him or looks twice. Everyone except Castiel, that is. Dean can’t see him perfectly - admitting now he probably needs to go to an eye doctor again eventually - but he can see the broader movements. The way he shifts on the car, keying the mic so that Dean can hear the familiar rustling of his trench coat. He can hear Castiel swallow when he takes a drink of his soda. He’s missed those sounds. Wondered if they’d been there the whole week and he’d been too agitated to notice. More likely, Castiel had been a noble asshole once again and muted his mic unless necessary.

Another thing he’s missed only now that he has it back.

But Sam and Gabriel pull his attention shortly. He can’t hear every word, but Gabriel must be pacing, because his voice comes and goes in a distinct ebb and flow of someone moving closer and then further from the door.

“I’m not telling you this shit to make your life harder.”

Sam’s answer is muted, but sounds upset.

“It’s not about that, either. Okay, yeah, maybe a little like that, but not _all_ like that.”

Dean shakes his head. Gabriel gets horrible foot shoved in mouth disease at the worst possible moments.

“How are things?” Castiel asks mildly.

“Gabriel’s fumbling the play hard,” Dean answers as softly as possible so as not to be overheard.

Castiel snorts. “He likes to think he’s smooth.”

“Not hardly.”

“-fine, I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I won’t get butthurt if you say no. You’re still my Samshine. I want you to succeed no matter what.”

This time, Dean can’t hear Sam’s answer at all, but it causes quiet for a long time. Expecting the end of the conversation being imminent, Dean shoulders off the wall and wanders back across the lot like he hadn’t just heard Gabriel probably getting his heart very thoughtfully and lovingly stomped on.

Castiel winces as Dean sidles up beside him. “How bad?”

“More than a pat on the shoulder for comfort, but probably less than needing to get blackout drunk,” Dean guesses.

“Poor Sam.”           

Dean laughs. “Man, it sure ain’t hard to guess where your loyalties lie, is it?”

Castiel laughs roughly with him. “I spoke to Gabriel several times about this. He brought this heartbreak upon himself. Besides, you can’t force someone’s feelings. They’re either shared or they aren’t.”

“I get that,” Dean says staring down at his shoes. “And you’re right. Gabriel should have spoken up when Sam was free as a bird. I feel sorry for him, anyway.”

“I do, too,” Castiel admits. “A little.”

For the first time in days, the silence that follows Castiel’s statement is companionable.

After a few minutes, Dean can’t help himself anymore. “We should talk tonight,” he blurts.

Castiel glances over at him with a small, hopeful expression. “We should?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, face starting to feel hot. Time for a hasty retreat. “Meet me after Sam taps out tonight.”

Castiel’s smile grows, but then he pauses and nods over his shoulder. “That may not be an issue.”

Dean turns and sees Gabriel stumbling out of the trailer, looking a little... rumpled. Unsteady, and way too fucking pleased with himself. “Huh,” Dean says, thunderstruck. “Might be right.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean can’t explain his nerves as he stands outside the closed bedroom door of their not-yet-shared room. He tries not to think of the time as wasted, but his head still isn’t totally clear. But being stuck in stasis isn’t going to help anything. Maybe it’s just one of those things where the only way out is through. Together this time. Dean’s had a lot of partners, personal and professional, but none of them have consistently had his back the way Castiel always has. Even when they butt heads. Even when they only managed to get along for Sam’s sake.

He wants to. He has to. He wants this thing with Castiel to last. Maybe that’s the long and short of it. He just has to want it enough to try and do better.

That thought alone makes him more confident than he can remember. He reaches out and pushes the door open. And he doesn’t miss Castiel jumping a little in surprise as he swings around.

The door clicks shut.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, the poster boy of trepidation.

Like a thunder clap, Dean’s clarity is there.

Which probably explains why he bullrushes Castiel, colliding with him hard enough that it knocks the air from both their lungs. But it doesn’t matter because breathing is rapidly lowering down the list of necessities.

Fuck, but it feels right being in Castiel’s arms again. What’s confusing him, though, is Castiel’s hesitation. He’s not unresponsive, but he’s also not as enthusiastic as usual.

Slowly Dean pulls back to see what Castiel will do. But Castiel doesn’t stop him in the slightest. He lowers his arms to his sides, staring wide-eyed at Dean.

“You’re not doing anything,” Dean says, irritated with himself for sounding accusatory.

“I don’t...” Castiel touches his own lips haltingly. “I don’t want to presume. Besides...” There’s the hint of the old spark back in his crystalline eyes as he gives Dean a once over. “I was thinking that... perhaps it would help us stop spinning our wheels if we had... a change of pace? If you’re amenable?”

His blood is damn near on fire at the words. If he’s catching Castiel’s meaning... scratch that, he knows he is. He can read Castiel now. And there’s acquiescence in his eyes. Submission in his body language. _Jesus_.

Castiel may have been wrong about knowing what either of them needed a week ago, but he’s really onto something tonight.

Dean is on Castiel like a freight train, his training taking over in an instant. He knocks Castiel’s left arm back, securing his wrist and swinging him around. He uses the momentum to yank the left arm back, locking the wrists, and jabbing him in the back of the knees. They topple to the bed, Dean heavily on top.

Castiel grunts at the contact, body tensed, but not to run. In a light tone toughened by gravel, he muses, “so, when you said we should talk tonight...”

“We can,” Dean says breathlessly, nipping at the base of Castiel’s neck, “but I want you so bad. I just... I’m not so good with words. Can’t explain this the right way. And you’re inspiring me to action.”

Squirming, Castiel says, “you’re much more a man of action. If this will help you feel how equal we truly are, it’s okay.”

“I need this, Cas. I really fucking need this right now.” He jerks Castiel’s arms higher against his back, and the filthy, needy whine the man let’s out makes Dean nearly swallow his tongue.

“Dean,” Castiel rasps.

Dean presses in harder, mouthing over the shell of Castiel’s ear, murmuring right into it. “Give and take, right? Absolute trust. Do ya trust me, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel breathes in a rush. His hips jut back, ass pressed firmly against Dean’s erection. Dean’s right hand immediately falls to Castiel’s waist, fingers digging into the sensitive spot over his hip bone. Castiel hisses another noise of want, and when Dean kisses a meandering path from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, the skin is warm and starting to sweat.

“Can I have control tonight?”

Every muscle Dean can feel against him goes taut. Voice strained as hard as his body, Castiel gasps, “yes, Dean! Please!”

“Anything I want?”

“ _Everything_ you want!”

“You can’t fucking say that,” Dean growls, grinding against Castiel’s firm ass. “You can’t say that because I want so fucking _much_ from you, do you get that, Cas?”

Castiel ruts back, lifting his hips so that Dean can work his hands underneath to unfasten the button of his pants and drag down the zipper to the sound of Castiel’s breathy moan.

“ _God_ , you feel good,” Dean sighs, hands roaming over the dimples in his lower back, firm muscles next to his spine, down over his thighs as he pushes away Castiel’s clothes. Pushes away his own clothes. He can’t get them naked fast enough.

“I do get that,” Castiel gasps, hands scrambling for purchase. They clench in the bed sheets, but that’s not good enough. Castiel slams his hands against the slats of the headboard, rattling them when he grabs at them. Still not good enough. His sweaty palms slip on the wood and he whimpers helplessly. “I get it, Dean, and I fucking _love_ it. I want to give everything. Take everything. Have everything. Give it right back to you. I don’t know. I don’t _know_! Please, just... give! Take! Please!”

With a low growl, Dean flips Castiel over, pressing him down into the comforter.

And then he gets a good look at his boyfriend’s face.

Everything screeches to a halt. They’re caught in each other’s stares, frozen in the hanging moment. Castiel can’t even blink though his eyes burn trying to keep them open.

Carefully, Dean lowers his hips until they’re resting against each other, skin to skin and vulnerable. Their faces are barely a foot apart. Dean’s fingers wander back up Castiel’s chest and shoulders, resting his weight on the mattress against his elbows, hands brushing Castiel’s jaw. Slowly, he wipes away the tears there. “What’s this about, Cas?” he murmurs.

Castiel tilts his chin up, breath hitching as he sighs, “I love you.”

Dean blinks. “Uh.”

Castiel swats Dean’s hands away to scrub at his own eyes. “I love you,” he sobs, chest heaving.

Dean raises up, still straddling Castiel, heart incredibly full, but also kinda miserable with it. “Do you know what you’re actually saying?” he asks, confused. Something’s seriously off with his partner. “I mean, you’re saying some pretty cool stuff there, but you’re making it sound like I ran over your dog.”

“I don’t like dogs,” Castiel hiccups.

“Your cat, then,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“ _Dean_.”

“What?” Dean snaps. “You’re giving me whiplash here, man. The hell is going on?”

Castiel knuckles hard into his eyes. “I love you!” he shouts. “I love you, and I’ll screw it all up just like before because I love you, and I’ll do it again, and I’m ready for that, and I want to do it again and again because I’m an _assbutt_ , and I don’t ever want to let you go until I ruin you and you run out on your own and hate me forever!”

Dean’s grip on Castiel’s wrists is painful. He yanks Castiel’s hands away, forcing him to look. “That’s not why you’re an assbu— _asshole_ , whatever,” he says angrily. “ _This_ is why. This is what I’ve been trying to talk to you about, Cas! You thinking whatever your opinion is, is the be-all, end-all. It ain’t like that. You ever think I might be a big boy, and in charge of my own feelings and actions?”

Castiel’s jaw clicks shut. He chews on his bottom lip. Says nothing for once. There’s a lot behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Looks like he’s learning.

And maybe it’s a weird time, and Dean shouldn’t open his idiotic mouth any more often than he needs to, but something about Castiel Novak makes him capable of more than he bargained for on his own. And it’s all so goddamn important. “Cas, dude, you didn’t fuck everything up. You pissed me off, sure, but you didn’t _break_ me, or nothin’. Look, clearly there’s a lot going on here with you that you probably need to tell me about. Sharing is caring. You got to look at my skeletons, so I think it’s time you showed me yours.”

“It’s not...” Castiel’s eyes slide to the side. “They aren’t skeletons, exactly.”

“Talk to me,” Dean begs while trying to keep the begging out of his voice.

Castiel pushes up onto his elbows and Dean leans back, allowing him. “I don’t let go of control easily. I... I spent a lot of time in my younger years being... _assumed_ to be a certain way. A certain type. Sexually speaking.”

Dean’s grin is quick and understanding. “Didn’t wanna be the twink everyone thought you were when they looked at you?”

“No,” Castiel says with a frown. “When I started learning about BDSM... when I began to think that it was something for me... well. It took many years before anyone even wanted a Dom who looked like I did when I was younger. I had a lot of growing up to do before I was taken seriously. But... it’s always there in the back of my mind. And since you don’t look like the stereotypical sub, perhaps with you those old feelings came back more than they should. More than you’ve earned. It’s not your fault at all.”

Dean reaches down, taking Castiel’s hands and stroking his wrists. “I don’t want you as anything but what you are. And I don’t want you to give up a part of yourself for my sake. I’m happy with how we are. What we do. Sure, you overstepped before, but that’s not the same thing. The things you said last week weren’t you being a good Dom. It was you treating me like a child. But you know that, and you’re making up for that. You’re trying. And now that I know what’s going on... we can work on it together.” He releases Castiel’s hands, and Castiel uses the freedom to touch Dean’s face.

“Is it any wonder I fell in love with you?”

Dean turns his face to kiss Castiel’s palm. “Hell, no.”

Castiel chuckles. “I meant it all, though. Before my breakdown, too. I want you to have all of me. I’m not that picky all the time.”

Smiling again, Dean bends back down, kissing Castiel’s salty lips. “Your trust means everything to me. I know it’s gotta be hard for you not being in control all the time.”

“I don’t want to be,” Castiel says, starting to get back into the mood and squirming a little. “Not with you. Everything you do to me - with me - brings so much pleasure. There’s so much I want to explore with you.”

Dean kisses him again. Slow. Easy. Let’s Castiel’s hands roam over his body gently. Let’s them both stoke up the embers of their shared arousal again. It’s so good. And even more intense because Castiel’s previous declaration continues to rattle around Dean’s head.

They barely break apart when Castiel begins to urge Dean’s hands lower, over his dick, back under his balls, making it clear what he wants. Blindly, Dean bats around the end table for the lube, slicking up his fingers sloppily because stopping kissing Castiel is unfathomable to him. Moving away more than an inch is impossible. He circles Castiel’s hole with his pointer finger, adding gentle pressure.

Castiel makes a tiny keening sound, shoving his tongue deeper into Dean’s mouth, jerking his hips down, forcing Dean’s finger past his rim.

Dean grunts, sliding in further, carefully. Painstakingly drawing in and out. A second finger that trips a hard moan from Castiel’s chest makes Dean lean back just enough to get some air. He can barely breathe for the pleasure just from the noises his lover is making. So quiet usually, but now growing louder under Dean’s ministrations. It’s beautiful. At first, Dean thinks it’s a damn shame he isn’t kissing Castiel anymore, but then he thinks that missing the view would be an even bigger shame, so he watches.

Castiel’s face contorts with bliss, back arching to press Dean’s fingers deeper inside. It’s clear he hadn’t been in this particular position for quite some time on the regular since he’s tight, obviously forcing his body to take the prep work with concerted effort. That’s why Dean makes sure to broadcast any change he makes, watch intently for any signs of pain. Thankfully, there are none.

Castiel’s internal muscles flutter around Dean’s fingers, finally beginning to relax, and Dean is so proud of the man underneath him. Trying so hard to get beyond his trepidation. Loving Dean enough to want to be better in every aspect.

“God, I love you,” the words slip out unintended, but still true.

Castiel’s eyes hold stars. “I’m ready,” he answers, shifting his weight higher up the bed.

Dean takes the lube and adds a generous amount to his aching dick, wiping his hands and then angling Castiel’s legs around his thighs. “You don’t have to give this to me if you’re not ready. I know we’ve done it before, but...” But Castiel had had full control of it that time.

Castiel’s fingers drift down Dean’s sides, holding him lightly, but the slight pressure is compelling. “I want it,” he says firmly.

Dean presses his palm over Castiel’s heart. Brings their foreheads together. “Me, too,” he whispers, angling his hips and using his free hand to guide his cock as he pushes past the resistance of Castiel’s rim. A few gently rocking thrusts and the head finally pops inside. He stops immediately and Castiel gasps. “You okay?”

Castiel nods vigorously, muscles taut with the strain of trying to remain still.

“You gotta relax,” Dean says softly. Easier said than done, he knows, but he’ll never risk hurting Castiel this particular way.

Gradually, Castiel takes the advice. His internal muscles begin to loosen as he draws in deep breaths. Each one inches Dean a little further inside his heat. “Oh,” he moans. Dean keeps himself as pliable as possible, letting Castiel determine the pace at which he moves in. Castiel begins to wiggle his hips up with all indrawn breaths, arching so that Dean isn’t able to withdraw. After long minutes, Deans pelvis rests against Castiel’s. He can’t go any further. He moves legs slightly to take the pressure off of his knees, but the shifting seems to hit that sweet spot inside Castiel because he jerks and cries out, fingers tightening against Dean’s ribs.

It’s overwhelming in a completely different way than ever before. Not better, but different. And wonderful. The heat alone is enough to make Dean’s dick pulse with want. “Cas,” he grits. “Can I...?”

“Yes, move,” Castiel answers with a shuddering moan.

So, Dean does. Easy rolls of his hips that don’t do much in the way of moving him inside of Castiel’s body, but definitely a lot to move him against Castiel’s body. And though it’s not much, the small internal thrusts appear to be doing plenty for Castiel, if his noise level is anything to go by. Dean sees on his lover’s face the same pleasure he finds when he’s the one doing the taking. It fills him up to overflowing to know that Castiel feels the same things, and just as acutely.

“Kiss me, please,” Castiel begs, one hand drifting down to jack himself off loosely.

Dean complies, hardly able to go as deep as he wishes since breathing is getting quite difficult, but they manage for a while until Castiel cries out, close. So close. Dean taps their foreheads together, content to feel the hot breath on his face, and he moves faster, back bowing like a cat’s with each thrust, driving them up the bed.

Castiel clings to him with one hand, moaning nonsensical words of praise and desire that Dean feels to his core, helping the heat of his orgasm ratchet up higher.

Tighter and tighter they hold each other. Castiel eventually releases his own dick, grabbing at Dean’s sweat-slick back, sobbing through his orgasm, body trembling as he spills between them.

Dean isn’t far behind, pounding into Castiel several more times until the wave of molten heat washes over him and he pulls out, coming in warm spurts over Castiel’s thighs and hole. Groaning at the sight, he collapses on top of Castiel’s heaving chest, oversensitive and shaking. He buries his face in Castiel’s neck, soaking in the scent of warm skin.

The afterglow lasts for a very long time.

Castiel is the one to urge them up after a time. He slides out from under Dean’s weight, slips off the bed, and reaches out for Dean’s hand. “We need to bathe,” he says softly.

“Don’t wanna move,” Dean mumbles into the pillow.

“Just a quick shower,” Castiel promises.

Lethargically, Dean gets moving, trudging after Castiel to the bathroom and slipping into the shower behind him. He drapes himself over Castiel’s back, kissing over his shoulders, soaping up his arms for him. “You feel good this way, too,” he murmurs, just barely heard over the rush of water.

Castiel hums. “Even when we have perfectly normal sex, you’re still so loose afterwards.” He rolls his shoulders to dislodge Dean long enough to wash their hair. “Like a wet noodle.”

Dean chuckles, only barely helping to clean them up. “I’m not one to deny a good endorphin high.”

“No, you’re not.” Castiel turns in Dean’s arms, kissing him properly on the mouth.

“Was it good?” Dean asks, guiding Castiel out of the way so that he can rinse off his front.

Castiel works the loofah over Dean’s shoulders and back. “Incredibly.” He pauses. More heavily says, “thank you, Dean.”

Dean tips his head back, resting it against Castiel’s shoulder. “Back at you.”

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s chest, splaying his fingers over his firm pectorals. “As cliché as it sounds, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you. No one as important to me.”

“That’s good, ‘cause I feel the same way.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Dean flips off the water. “Absolutely.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean and Castiel wake long before Sam. Their bags have already been packed, so even if Sam decides to sleep in, they’ll be able to vacate the room before checkout.

In the quiet morning, they sit side by side on the couch drinking their first cups of coffee. Dean didn’t used to be the type for these kinds of moments, but he’s learning new things about himself, too. Castiel’s warm hand is on his thigh, thumb stroking small circles while he watches the morning news on his laptop.

“‘Morning,” Sam says, shuffling in, eyes barely open.

Dean tenses to jerk away, but Castiel’s firm hand pushes down, squeezing his leg. His expression remains impassive, but his eyes follow Sam as he goes to the coffeemaker. “Good morning, Sam,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Sam answers. “But it’s better than the burning hell that was the past few days.”

“I love how cheerful you are in the mornings,” Dean says with an uneasy grin and falsely-light tone.

But Sam doesn’t seem to notice. “Bet you do. I’m ready to go home now.”

Castiel quirks a smile. “At least you’ve got a week of rest ahead of you. Do you have any plans?”

The way that Sam’s face morphs from morning grump to unbridled embarrassment, has both Dean and Castiel sitting up in unison, folding their hands on top of the table. “So, uh... Gabe asked if I’d... y’know... go to the lake. Um. With him.”

The bodyguards exchange a look. “Alone?” Castiel ventures.

Cringing, Dean adds, “without the bodyguards on your payroll? Not like I want _any_ part of you and Gabe at the lake. Just… asking.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Sam says, “you don’t have to go. I mean... this is Gabe’s place. He’s got his own security. And it’s just for the weekend.” He drops his hand, suddenly much more sure of himself. “Come on, you’re not my parents. I’m going.”

“It should be fine,” Castiel breaks in before Dean even has his mouth half open to protest. “As long as you keep your cell phone and GPS on. Check in twice a day.”

Dean makes a noise of distaste in his throat. “No drugs or orgies,” he says moodily.

“Gross, no,” Sam protests. But the light in his eyes is kind of worth it. “I’ll be good, okay? Jesus. Like my two dads over here,” he mutters, wandering away.

Dean groans. “I don’t think I like the little guy growing up.”

Castiel laughs outright. “Try not to think about, and everything’ll be fine.”

“Let’s just get home,” Dean groans.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

But the more Dean broods over Sam’s obviously romantic weekend with Gabriel, the worse his mood becomes, despite his happiness in the morning. And it doesn’t help that the crowds have descended upon the hotel with their impending departure. It’s a madhouse by the time they’re leaving.

“Jesus, Jesus, _Jesus_ ,” Sam mutters over and over like he’s stuck in a feedback loop. “I thought we were gonna leave out a back entrance.”

“This _is_ the back entrance,” Dean growls, blocking Sam’s left flank from the pressing bodies and incessant camera flashes. It’s an extra hassle trying to keep Sam’s arm from being jostled. “Cas, what do you say about blacklisting this fucking hotel in the future?”

“Agreed,” Castiel grunts, bodily shoving the crowd back and trying his absolute best to cut a path to the town car, which seems an unattainable goal even though it’s only about fifteen feet away. “The mini bar wasn’t even worth it.” The paparazzi aren’t moving until they get their shots of Sam Winchester, international superstar.

Dean shouts obscenities at his side of the roiling crowds, and Castiel rolls his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses because even he’s figured out by now that the media loves riling up the surly bodyguard almost as much as paying their mortgages off of candid shots of Sam. If they ever figured out that Sam and Dean were _brothers_ … he can’t even think about it.

“This isn’t working,” Castiel notes grimly through his throat mic. In his peripheral vision he sees Dean tap his earpiece to hear better over the absolute din and chaos. He’s definitely got the message because a feral grin spreads over his face.

“Got it. Let’s ruin their payday.”

Castiel grips Sam’s forearm tightly in preparation, blocking his face from the cameras in front of him.

Dean shouts to draw attention and starts flipping everyone off and making ridiculous faces. He keeps his hands as close to Sam’s head as possible to ensure that no one gets a clear picture that they can use.

A round of boos goes up from the crowd, but the crush begins to loosen enough for Castiel to drag Sam further with more alacrity.

The three of them tumble into the limo finally, all feeling like they’ve just run a marathon.

Dean slouches back in his seat, rips off his glasses, and groans. “Fuck, we need to vet these hotels better. I hate location shoots.”

“I love them,” Sam says honestly. “It’s worth the mess.”

Castiel removes his sunglasses and levels Dean with a pointed look. “Dean, we’re going to talk about your improvisation later. It only makes the circus worse. You need to keep yourself under control.”

“Bite me,” Dean murmurs exhaustedly, closing his eyes. “Got the job done, didn’t it?”

Castiel opens his mouth to retort, but Sam’s plaintive, “guys, please,” stops him. “Come on, you’ve been at each other’s throats long enough. I thought you were getting along better.”

“We _get along_ fine,” Castiel insists. “But it’d be better if he followed our established protocols as written to ensure a timely and safe response.”

“ _He_ is right here, got the damn job done, no one hurt, paparazzi’s day ruined, and totally on schedule. You can unclench, Cas.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says. He looks utterly pained. “You both are awesome, okay? Cas, you’re my best friend in the world. You’ve been with me from the beginning, and you’ve kept me safe in like, every conceivable situation. Dean. You’re my brother, and you’ve kept me motivated and calm since I was a kid. You guys are the best. But you’ve got a really confrontational relationship. Some harmony wouldn’t go wrong. Maybe you _should_ spend some more time talking. Figure out a compromise while I’m not in your hair for a few days.”

“I apologize,” Castiel says, chagrined. “Though I can rarely confidently speak for Dean, I’m sure I can now by saying that neither of us wishes to cause you undue stress or anxiety.”

“Word,” Dean agrees gruffly.

Sam beams like the overgrown puppy that he is. “Great! Awesome. Thanks, guys. I mean it. So, you think you can make it all work?”

“Yeah,” Dean grouches.

Castiel leans as close to Dean as he can and murmurs in his ear. “It’s plenty of time for you punishment.”

Dean shifts over and surreptitiously crosses his legs. Yes. Indeed, it does.  Now he just needs the patience to wait for it. It’s going to be a long day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel come clean to Sam. Sam drops a bombshell. A new chapter of their lives begin.
> 
>  
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags for this chapter:**  
>  spanking  
> wrist binding  
> frottage  
> cock warming

Dean holds his hands out, palms forward like he’s placating. “Cas, man, it’s all your fucking fault, you know.”

With a hard frown, Castiel grabs Dean’s wrists, snapping the handcuffs in place with practiced ease; first the right hand, then spinning him around to secure it to his left behind his back. “The punishment should fit the crime.”

A breathy whine threatens to pass Dean’s lips, but he swallows it back. “The paps deserved it. You can’t expect me to be nice when they’re trying to suffocate the world’s biggest star. Just ‘cause you’re a robot, doesn’t mean I am.”

Castiel yanks hard on the cuffs, jerking Dean to him so they’re pressed back to front. Through the large mirror over the dresser, their eyes meet. His expression is set, jaw muscle twitching. He tilts his head, ice in his eyes. “That mouthiness doesn’t suit you, boy. You’re being a brat. And you already agreed to the rules before the press debacle today. To what would happen if you broke protocol. Are the rules still acceptable?”

Dean nods, mouth dry.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good. Get. On. Your. Knees.”

Dean’s knees fold under him and he hits the mattress.

“In position.”

He scrambles until he’s facing the headboard. He bends over, resting his cheek against the pile of pillows, elevating him and steadying him so that he doesn’t topple over without the use of his hands. He spreads his legs, arches his back, putting his ass on display.

“Lovely,” Castiel says. “Keep count. Don’t falter.”

The first blow falls against Dean’s ass with a sharp crack through the room, open-palmed and stinging. “One!” Dean gasps.

“Louder,” Castiel commands.

There’s a pause and another hit. “Two!” Dean says evenly. He can take this. It’ll take a lot more to have him break, especially since he’s more than ready to remember it every time he sits down for the next few days.

The next hits fall rapidly, increasing in strength, leaving behind a burn that Dean barely has time to process before it’s replaced by the sting again. Dean counts them all right away, loudly. Castiel is a true professional in life and the bedroom. He has no tells during punishment. Even when he lets Dean see him. He can hear Castiel walking back and forth during the pauses. The stops. Occasionally he glances up to see Castiel standing next to him, studying him impassively. It’s so hot he can hardly stand it.

He doesn’t understand why Castiel’s lack of reaction is so sexy. It shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t like seeing a lover hovering over him like Dean’s body on display has no effect. Like it could be anyone. Like Castiel doesn’t want him. But Castiel _does_ want him. It takes time to read the nuances, but Dean sees them. _Thinks_ he’s seeing them. The heat behind that ice blue gaze. The interest hidden carefully behind the lack thereof. Castiel is an amazing Dom. He knows all about appearances. And Dean certainly does love watching the carefully crafted facade crumble when they’re together. When the scene draws to a conclusion. When Castiel can’t help but let himself come back to Dean. Let the Dom and sub wash away with their desire for each other. He’ll never stop being amazed by it.

Several slaps go almost unnoticed by Dean, though he counts them by rote. Castiel stops the punishment for a moment to grab the meat of Dean’s ass, kneading roughly, spreading the burning out. He knew that Dean was getting used to it. Of course he did. It almost makes Dean smile. The harsh handling shoves Dean onto his stomach and he can’t stop the moan when his dick finally gets some friction on the bed’s comforter. Castiel won’t mind unless Dean comes by himself. Which he won’t. He never does. Probably can’t anymore. Hands are all over him. Nails on his back, adding lighter burning to his nerves that shoot down his spine, his muscles, to his ass. It goes on for a long time. Dean never wants it to stop.

“Legs together,” Castiel commands. His voice is becoming more hoarse which means that Dean’s about to get the rest of what he needs soon. He walks his knees together.

Castiel’s lubed dick slides between his thighs, shoving against his balls and the underside of his cock almost painfully. _Perfectly_ painfully. Damn it’s the best thing in the world. When Castiel starts to thrust, Dean loses his balance again, messing up the pressure.

“Gotta hold me tighter,” Dean gasps. “Please. _Please_.”

It’s the go-ahead he’s been looking for. Castiel grabs a handful of Dean’s hair at the crown of his head, yanking up hard. Dean’s head snaps back and he moans harshly, held fast, the fire in his scalp almost making him come right then.

But Castiel has them back in position again in seconds, rutting together, grunting with the effort and exertion of the fast pace. It’s an incredibly animalistic sound.

Lost in the filthy sounds and slick sensations, Dean comes before he’s expecting to, shouting at the ceiling. A moment later, sticky warmth spreads against his thighs. He breathes out with pleasure and relief.

Slowly, Castiel releases his grip, letting Dean go boneless against the wet spot on the comforter. Whoops. They should have put a towel down. He couldn’t care less.

The handcuffs come off shortly thereafter. Dean drags his heavy arms up, massaging his wrists. Castiel’s weight joins him, half on top of him, sultry breath in his ear. He helps return circulation to Dean’s fingers as the rest of the world slowly starts to return.

And with it, the reason for Dean’s agitation. Castiel sees it easily beginning to blanket him. He tilts his head and asks, “after everything, have you thought some more about telling Sam?” The lightness helps.

“I still don’t want to,” Dean answers, edging towards a whine again. “Look, I know the benefit might outweigh the cost here, but I’m not convinced it’s the right time.”

Castiel chuckles. Anyone else saying such a thing about hiding a relationship would be offensive, but none of their reasons have changed. “Do you think he already knows and is acting for us, too?”

“No,” Dean edges a smile, turning his face to kiss Castiel’s plush lips for a minute. “I’d be able to tell. His worry is pretty fucking genuine.”

“I feel a little bad about it,” Castiel smiles back, eyes shining like he’s not _too_ sorry. “He probably loses sleep worrying that one of us will storm out and quit on account of the other one being too much of a dick someday. And he’s got enough to worry about.”

Dean brushes a short curl of sweaty hair off of Castiel’s forehead. “Not gonna happen. I’m his brother, and you’re the cyborg programmed to protect him at all costs. He knows that.” Once again, Castiel seems just fine with it, but something nudges at Dean anyway. His brow furrows unconsciously and he doesn’t notice until Dean smooths the frown line between his eyebrows with his thumb. “Do _you_ wanna be open with Sam?”

“Yes,” Castiel admits. “Besides you, he’s the other half of my family. I’d be happy if he knew. And maybe now _is_ the best time. Despite his injury, things are calm. They may not remain so once _Wayward Brothers_ really gets going. And besides that, we’re in love now. Our situation has changed again.”

Dean shrugs and rolls to his back. He only takes a tiny moment to enjoy his sore ass against the warm sheets before he grabs his cell phone and dials. “Hey, Sammy. Just so you know, Cas and I fell in love months ago and have been fucking ever since, so you can get over your abandonment issues. ‘Night!” He hangs up before he can hear his brother’s reply. “Done,” he announces, slapping the phone back on the nightstand.

For a second, he thinks Castiel is about to lay into him the way his face pinches, but his lips split into a wide grin, laughter filling the room. “Sam is going to kill you!”

Dean rolls himself into Castiel’s arms, enjoying the warmth and the rumble of laughter against him. “Not one armed, he’s not.”

“In two more weeks, then.”

“It was nice knowing you.”

“Thank you for not asking me to be dragged down to Hell with you.”

Dean laughs. “Nah. I’m already expecting it. Once Sam’s killed me, he’ll come for you.”

Sighing theatrically Castiel says, “at least it will be dramatic.”

“Actors, man,” Dean agrees.

Castiel’s smile fades towards gentle melancholy. “All jokes aside, he’s going to be very upset with you.”

“I’m used to it,” Dean drawls. “Why do you think I hung up on him before he could yell at me? It’s been too good a night for that shit.”

Castiel turns to press a kiss on Dean’s chest. “You’re not worried at all.”

“I’m not.” Dean threads his fingers through Castiel’s hair, encouraging the attention. “Look, I’ve been dealing with Sam his whole life, and he always comes around, so he can act like a baby in the short term all he wants.” He’s _almost_ positive, anyway. There’s never been a situation quite like this, truth be told.

Castiel frowns. “That’s a very uncharitable thought. How would you feel if you were in his position and the most trusted people in your life admitted they’d been lying to you for months?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe Gabe’ll soften him up. Cas,” he readjusts to look his lover in the face, “this thing with us is important to me. I said it before, and I’ll say it again; I ain’t giving this up. Sam just needs to see how good it is. In the meantime, I’ll handle it.”

Castiel’s frown eases slightly. “You seem to think I’m going to be left out of Sam’s wrath, save for a quick death.”

Chuckling, Dean says, “you probably won’t get it as bad. Plus, once he calms down he’ll realize both of us are in it for the long haul. Maybe that’ll be less stressful.”

“Or,” Castiel counters, “he’ll constantly worry about us breaking up.”

“You dumping me, Cas?”

“Never.”

He meant it as a joke, but Castiel is dead serious in his assertion. Dean wants to make fun, but it’s so damn touching, so he answers, “good. Me either. We’ll just have to work extra hard to make this work between us and with the job. It’s been good so far, right?”

“The best,” Castiel answers, stroking Dean’s face. “Plus, I have faith.”

Dean kisses him again. “Then we’re good to go.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The fallout doesn’t happen immediately, which actually causes Dean some anxiety. He carries his phone with him everywhere the following day, and it remains silent. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Sam was trying to fake him out, but he’s not that kind of man.

In fact, it’s Gabriel who breaks the silence, and it’s not at all what they’re expecting. He calls Castiel.

“Hey, young lovers,” he says with weight. “Thanks for ruining my romantic weekend, several years in the making. Hope you’re having lots of sex and being all lovey-dovey because I’ve advised my boy wonder to give you absolute hell when I deliver him safely home.”

Castiel does his patented whole upper body eye roll. “Yes, thank you, Gabriel. Dean and I have already discussed our poor timing, and we’ll take the heat when it happens. I apologize for your sex life, or lack thereof.”

Dean snorts, almost shooting soda out of his nose.

“Least of my worries,” Gabriel answers. “Samwise here is about to cause a PR nightmare, so put on your big boy panties and be prepared.”

Startled, Castiel flips his phone to speaker and waves Dean closer. “What’s going on?”

“Charlie has worse timing than you do,” Gabriel intones dryly. “She called a few hours ago. ET is coming to town and wants an interview. Live. And my adoring moose said yes, no hesitation. Now, can either of you talk me out of a panic attack, or should I hit up the Xanax now?”

Dean wipes a hand down his face. “Dammit. And you and Charlie are letting him do the interview? Why?”

“‘Cause there’s no reason not to, honestly. Sam won’t take no for an answer. He does fine with the press, so I’m not _really_ stressing out about that part. It’s just...” There’s a scratching on the line and then Gabriel’s voice comes more quietly. “He’s got a look about him. Like he’s up to something. And you know I’d recognize it because he’s never up to _anything_.”

Dean and Castiel exchange a look. “Fine. When and where?”

“Ten at the studio on Monday. They have a setup there. Closed, so it shouldn’t need tons of prep. I’ll bring Sam back to you tomorrow. Charlie’s talking to ET for the details. There won’t be any surprises from them. Guess we’ll see if Sam’s of the same mind. So far he won’t say anything other than that he wants to do it.”

“Got it, thanks,” Dean says.

Castiel hangs up the phone, uneasy. “So?”

“Guess we’ll find out what he’s up to tomorrow, or at the interview. It can’t be anything too bad,” Dean reasons. “He’s not a gossip. He doesn’t want to be in the press’ limelight for the wrong reasons. This is probably Gabe and Charlie being worried they haven’t had time to prepare him. But he’s good off the cuff. Gabriel’s paranoid since all his other clients enjoy starting fires when he lets them have their head.”

“I agree,” Castiel says. “People who aren’t as talented do anything that they can to stay in the spotlight. Sam’s star is still on the rise, and he has the talent to back it up. Easy enough to prepare for. All we need to do is show up. He’s angry at us, but that shouldn’t translate to acting out in public.”

Dean nods. “I hope you’re right.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Sam’s angry in a sort of pre-teen tantrum kind of way. It’s showy angry. Actor angry. But _boy_ has he always done it really well. He makes it clear that he’s displeased with Gabriel bringing him home, and even more displeased with having to be around his sources of ire. In his house, he slams cabinets and leaves the room in a huff when Dean and Castiel deign to be together in the same shared space for more than two minutes. He develops a knack for closing doors in their faces while giving them a practiced stink eye as he does so.

It would be incredibly annoying to Dean if he didn’t feel he deserved it, somewhat. Every look, every huff, makes him think more and more that he and Castiel misjudged Sam. That his brother hates them being together. It hurts in a sickly aching way.

“You need to keep your cool about it,” Castiel says. “He’ll come around.”

Dean keeps his cool.

And he keeps his fucking cool.

And he still keeps his goddamn _cool_.

He is so shitting _cool_ that the thermostat needs to be set to eighty. For _days_.

Then Sam Bratty Winchester has the interview with _Entertainment Tonight_ that sets his older brother’s teeth on edge. It’s a “casual” thing. Sam handles the partially-unrehearsed questions about his new movie and upcoming television show, and since he’s so open about his home life, he parries easy questions about that, too. And the interviewer is loving every second of his down home, Texas-bred charm.

“So, your bodyguards? There’s always a lot of buzz about them. Have they been with you from the start?” She waves vaguely between the two of them off stage.

Sam grins like a piranha, but really, he’s so practiced at it that only Dean and Castiel can smell the blood in the water. “Oh, _yeah_ ,” he drawls. He thumbs over his shoulder at them. “Dean’s the taller one. That’s my older brother who I _adore_. Seriously. I wouldn’t _be here_ without him looking out for me. I’ve never really talked about him before, but he’s been looking out for me since we were kids. After our mom died, he did _everything_ he could.”

Dean swallows hard. They can’t stop this without making a scene, but it was never part of anyone’s plan to out their relationship. Especially not on national television on an entertainment show that millions of people watch. Jesus. This was his plan. It’s going to be a mess. Beside him, Castiel stands stock still, staring hard at Sam. Dean’s eyes slide over to Gabriel and Charlie on the other side of the set who both look like they’ve just seen a ghost.

Clearly they’ve all misjudged Sam Winchester’s wrath.

And he’s still going. “The frowny one is Castiel. We brought him in a few months later after my career started picking up, and he’s my _best friend in the world_. We went to college together and everything. The three of us? Peas in a pod, I’ll tell ya. We know _everything_ about it each other. No secrets or nothin’. It’s just _great_.”

In an almost invisible movement, Castiel places his palm over Dean’s lower back. He knows when to expect the sound and the fury. Dean tenses under him, but doesn’t otherwise move.

Three fake smiles grace the clueless interviewer as the cameras swing towards the two bodyguards for several seemingly-endless seconds, and thankfully, the whole ordeal is over fifteen minutes later. An hour all told, if the ride home counts. Dean counts it. Dean counts every fucking _second_ of it.

He’s about lay into his baby brother the moment they’re behind closed doors, but Sam is already sweeping away to the indoor pool, and Castiel’s hand is a vice on Dean’s forearm. “Follow,” he says in the voice that _will not_ be disobeyed.

Loathe as he is to do it, Dean follows. He has to. And not just because his pants are immediately too tight when he hears that commanding tone, but also because Castiel knows what he’s doing. In a scene or not, he knows when Dean’s toeing the ledge of somewhere he’d rather not be.

Castiel’s bedroom door closes with a sharp click, and the _tink_ of the lock engaging. “Breathe,” he says.

Dean’s breath heaves out of his lungs. Then heaves back in. Breathing is really hard.

“I can’t decide what you need more,” Castiel says conversationally as he slips his tie off.

It’s not a question and Dean knows better than to answer. Castiel always takes care of him. Always makes it better.

“You’re being quiet now, but I still think you need...” Castiel trails off, grabbing Dean’s chin and forcing his head up. Dean’s expression makes him smirk, and he continues, “yes. Defiance in those pretty eyes. You’ll need a firm hand.” He makes a knot in the center of the tie, shoves it into Dean’s mouth, and then secures it around the back of his head. “Since you’re still so fond of ruining my ties, bite down on that, and stay silent. Do you understand?”

Dean’s teeth grind so hard into the knot that the fabric squeaks. He nods.

“Will you give me my head to do as I please?”

Dean nods again, relieved.

Castiel gives him an indulgent grin and begins to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. “Good boy. Remove your clothes. Quickly.”

Dean does. And when he’s entirely nude, skin prickling at the fully body assessment Castiel gives him, Castiel moves behind him, whips off his belt, and deftly ties Dean’s wrists behind his back. Truthfully, this is Dean’s favorite thing. Castiel using the tools available to subdue him; not always the tools they’ve bought for the specific purpose. It’s still _really fucking good._ It almost makes Dean smile to think, _back in the day_. The months feel like a blessed eternity.

Castiel must catch wind of his mood shift because he circles back around to Dean’s front with his normal soft smile. “You caught my meaning,” he says warmly. “How we used to be. So impatient. Hurried. Inexperienced. The things we’ve learned together in so little time, all things considered...”

God, Dean loves this man.

“I want you to stand still and listen to me; every word.” The steel is back in his voice and Dean obeys with a nod.

“Everything’s changed.”

Dean’s eyes widen as his skips a beat. What the hell? His former anger and frustration at his brother is washed away in a tide of panic at the ominous start to the speech and the way that Castiel says it hard, but sadly, too. His fears being realized. He was right about Sam because Castiel’s obviously seeing the same inability to forgive them for lying. Too scared about what will happen to them if they continue on and break up later. Too disapproving of it.

Had they really reached a FUBAR in their relationship? Dean wants to make a noise, but he’s bound to obey. Wants to scream that whatever the fuck is wrong, he’ll _fix it_. He can’t give this up. He _can’t_. Not for anyone; not even Sam. 

Castiel’s cold fingers touch his cheek. His thumb swipes down to Dean’s chin and comes away wet. “You don’t need to cry. It’s not _that_ kind of talk, though it is serious. Breathe, Dean.” Then gently, “please. For me.”

He does. Tries to. “A” for effort and all that.

When Castiel deems him calm enough, he continues. “Sam is angry with us because we’re the people he trusts most in the world. For Sam, we’re everything. You especially. Since he’s become famous, his whole life is on display. Most of that he’s brought on himself, being so willing to share his experiences for the sake of his charities and causes. He’s always had a big heart. But it’s also easily broken. You and I... Sam thought he knew everything about us. He _deserved_ to. Yet, we decided to make our relationship exciting. In the beginning, it was a good move. Sam would have worried too much about us having a fling and breaking up, thus souring our dynamic. He would have done anything to prevent that. But we let it go too long. We were selfish. And that needs to stop.”

Dean can’t even see Castiel anymore through the blur of guilty, bitter tears. He fucking _knows_ that. He knew the second he’d hung up the phone after telling his brother what was up. It wasn’t fair, and it had been the wrong thing to do. So often the case when Dean lets his impulsivity take hold. And they’re all paying for it. Suddenly, his mouth is free of the gag, tie now hanging around his neck, and he’s sobbing embarrassingly loud. Only dimly aware of it, he allows himself to be led closer to the bed. Castiel’s hand is a steady pressure on his shoulder, compelling him down. He follows, as always, kneeling on the ground, thankful that Castiel’s thought to put a pillow on the carpet for his comfort.

When he can open his eyes again, he notices that he’s between Castiel’s legs, and his boyfriend has undone his pants enough to free his limp cock.

A surge of painful arousal shoots through Dean, but it only adds to the miasma of guilt, shame, sadness, anger, frustration, hopelessness inside him, and he don’t know what he _needs_ because the swirling in his brain is too much to register anything.

That’s why Castiel is the best person on earth in these moments. His hands are on Dean’s face again, two fingers pressing down on Dean’s bottom teeth until his mouth is completely open. Then he hooks them behind and gently guides him forward, urging his soft dick into Dean’s mouth until he’s completely engulfed.

It’s harder to breathe through his stuffy nose and gummy throat, though that’s probably why Castiel is doing it. It’s forcing him to center his attention on one thing, and that’s not passing out.

Castiel removes his fingers and says, “you can pull off if you really can’t breathe, but otherwise remain still.” His long fingers sift through Dean’s hair comforting and steady. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

Dean does his best to stay perfectly still, but he can’t help sniffling and swallowing convulsively from crying and phlegm, and Castiel’s slowly hardening length in his mouth. He’s not getting quite enough air, and it’s actually exquisite. Tears leak out of his closed eyes, but they’ve slowed down considerably the more his muscles relax. The more his focus is drawn to Castiel’s warm weight on his tongue. His musky, clean scent. The whispered praises and adulations. Dean doesn’t move, but every now and then his throat constricts to swallow, pulling a beautiful soft noise from Castiel.

There’s no rush. It’s like a sedative, being like this. Castiel has full control. He’s unerringly calm, supportive. It makes Dean’s mind drift carelessly, until there’s nothing. His body softens fully. The constriction eases. He’s floating. Weightless.

Gradually, Castiel’s fingers tighten in his hair. Not painfully, but enough to pull his attention. He begins to thrust his hips slowly, almost like a question.

Dean moans quietly, stiffening his tongue and willing his throat to open. Thank god for a lack of gag reflex. He closes his lips around Castiel’s cock, still loose and willing. Castiel hums in approval, holds Dean still. Fucks into his mouth, pausing every time he’s fully in, brushing the back of Dean’s throat, holding until he’s seeing stars, then pulling out again to give Dean a rush of oxygen.

It’s indescribable. Dean’s lightheaded and blissed out, and he doesn’t even care if he gets off or not because this is perfect. Everything he needs. _Castiel_ is everything he needs. He gives his Dom everything he demands and then some. He deserves it. He deserves everything Dean has. And Dean deserves to give it to him. He wants it more than anything. He wants it forever.

Sooner than expected, or maybe not since Dean’s lost all concept of time, Castiel is rolling his hips faster and faster, gasping and moaning, louder and louder. His dick throbs, and Dean may not know how long they’ve been at it, but he knows when Castiel is getting close. He feels Castiel’s thighs tighten on either side of his head, and on his next thrust, Dean sucks hard and swallows. Castiel shouts and yanks on Dean’s hair painfully this time, coming hard onto the back of his tongue and down his throat. Dean drinks it all eagerly.

Carefully, with a hiss of satisfaction, Castiel guides Dean’s head back off of him. He spares a caress for his cheeks and then sets about fully removing the tie and his belt. Dean massages proper blood flow back into his hands and rolls his sore shoulders while Castiel shucks the rest of his clothes and grabs them both a comfortable change of clothes. Lounge pants and soft t-shirts.

It’s too early to sleep, but Castiel folds down the covers on the bed anyway, gathering Dean into his arms, head against his chest and his steady heartbeat lulls Dean to dozing.

And he must have drifted off because when a soft knock sounds on the door, waking him, he blinks up at Castiel who has his glasses on, reading a book with the bedside lamp on since the sun has nearly set. “Come in,” Castiel says.

Sam pokes his head through the door and Dean shoots up, ready to stand, but Sam holds up his hands. “You don’t have to... um... can we talk?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, hoarse from sleep and sex. Hoping Sam only notices the former since they’re already in hot water being found in bed together, clothed or not.

Wordlessly, Castiel holds out a bottle of water and Dean takes it with a grateful smile in his direction, but then his attention is back fully on his brother.

“I’ve been acting like a dick,” Sam says as he lowers himself into the reading chair by the window. “I’m sorry.”

“Dude,” Dean protests, shifting up to a sitting position and rubbing his eyes. “You had every reason to.”

“I know,” Sam says with difficulty, having a hard time meeting his brother’s eyes. “You know why, right?”

“I do,” Dean assures him. “We should have told you a long time ago. I’m your brother, and Cas is your best friend, and... man, there’s no excuse. I’m so fucking _sorry_.” He infuses his voice with as much sincerity as he can because it’s all true. He doesn’t want to ruin their relationship over this. “I was selfish and I own that. Cas and I...” he glances at Castiel again briefly and Castiel blinks at him neutrally. Dean clears his throat. “Cas and I made a bad call, but it was mostly me.”

“The secret was exciting?” Sam ventures with a wan smile.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with a matching expression. “That and the fact that Cas and I decided it would only stress you out if you thought we were just fooling around and might break up. But it’s not worth the bullshit we put you through. We’ll do whatever you need to make it right.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he looks at his brother and then his best friend. “I’m not asking y’all to break up. I’d _never_ , okay? You’re a great... couple, y’know? I assume. I mean, the biggest hurdle is getting Dean Winchester to stick around for more than a day, and that’s clearly happened so... who knows, you’re probably made for each other. If this is what you want, I’m not gonna say anything about it. Even if you broke up... I think it’d work. And if it didn’t... well, then we’d talk options then. But I don’t wanna jinx it. And I don’t want either of you putting your lives or your happiness on hold for the sake of a job. I’ve _never_ wanted that.”

“Sam,” Castiel says after a pause. “We’re family.”

“Damn right, we are,” Dean agrees enthusiastically. “Always, okay?”

Sam’s smile grows sheepish. “Truthfully, the more I thought about it, the more I was angry at _myself_.”

“What?” Dean asks. “Why?”

“Because I should have _known_!” Sam blows out a strong breath that ruffles his long hair that’s fallen in his face. “I know you both better than anyone in the world, and I had no idea! Pissed me off, my lack of observational skills.”

Castiel chuckles and Dean huffs incredulously. Sam joins in after a moment.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the profiler in this motley crew. We good?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam answers, and he looks like he means it. “We’re good. I love you guys, okay?”

“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean says gruffly, trying to parse the relief and happiness he’s feeling.

Sam stands. “Okay, then. Now we can get back to normal. Or. A new normal, I guess. But first, pizza. I’m starved.”

Dean shoves the covers back, kisses Castiel casually on the lips now that he can, and gets out of bed, wrapping an arm around his brother. He guides them out of the room while Castiel lingers behind with a smile as he listens to his two most important people argue toppings loudly all the way down the hall. As they’ve always done. As they’ve always been.

It’s wonderful.

At least until the emails start.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns things about fame he never wanted to know. Bobby steps in to help with Lucifer.

It’s not twenty-four hours before the next letter from Lucifer shows up, and this time it’s not hand written and mailed.

“He’s getting desperate,” Dean says grimly, reading over the email for the tenth time.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “He needed us to know that he’s constantly following Sam’s progress through the world.”

“He’s been to the set,” Dean says.

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Surely not as part of the crew?”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t think so. There’s not quite enough detail to be positive, but the stuff in this letter is pretty general. Enough to suspect that he’s seen Sam filming at least from where the rest of the fans stood behind the barricade, but not enough to know if he had more access.” He passes over the tablet with the most current “love letter.”

_Sam, you were beautiful in your interview. Transcendent. Every time you looked at the camera, I could feel your eyes on me. It’s not the same as on TV, though. Even so, I know you love me, too. And I know why we have to hide it. But not forever. We’ll be together soon. I’ll be patient until then._

“He’s unstable,” Castiel says. “He believes Sam actually loves him now?” He flips through the other emails flagged by Charlie, looking more and more put off all the time.

“Yeah, and obviously over questioning his sexuality,” Dean says, rubbing his temples, then adjusting his glasses. “It’s not as uncommon as you’d think. Whoever this dude is, he needs serious mental help. And to be identified as soon as possible. If not, he could get actual access to Sam, and that could turn out badly. My guess is the escalation will keep happening now that the first season’s starting to air. Sam’s face has been all over the internet and getting a lot of attention. You can’t _not_ see him around everywhere these days.”

Not peeling his eyes away from the screen, Castiel nods. “Charlie said she’s sent the worst of the letters to Bobby and also the local police here. But my guess is they’ll want you to be the one to build the profile. As you’ve said, with Sam being in the public eye no matter what, Lucifer will only get more desperate for attention. He’ll have more fuel for fodder. Get the profile done quickly, please.”

“Like I’m their own personal episode of _Criminal Minds_ ,” Dean grumbles.

Despite the severity of the situation, Castiel chuckles a little. “You trained at Quantico.”

“For a year,” Dean returns. “Most of the stuff I know I learned from Bobby, same as you. He’s the ex-Fed. He should do it.”

Castiel puts the tablet down on his knees, removes his glasses, and gives Dean a curious look. “You’re still technically an active detective. Why are you suddenly doubting your skills?”

Dean scratches at his ear. “Dude, it’s _Sammy_.”

“Yes, I know. You’re uncomfortable doing something this big for your brother?”

Shrugging, Dean says, “I don’t wanna get anything wrong. If I do, and something happens...”

Castiel leans close, putting their foreheads together with a gentle smile. “You don’t half-ass the important things. And since it _is_ Sam you’ll be doing it for, I somehow think you’ll be less likely to make any mistakes. Besides, you have me and Bobby to help. We’ll find this Lucifer. We’ll protect Sam. Everything will be fine.”

Dean slides his head down, pressing his lips gently to Castiel’s. “Fuck, what did I do to deserve someone like you? All that faith you have in me.”

They trade several small kisses until their lips are tingling. “It was earned, Dean. Sam didn’t hire you to be his bodyguard just because you’re his brother. Nor did he hire me because I’m his best friend. We’re good at our jobs and bring complementary skills to our positions. No one wants to keep him safe more than you do. And no one is as qualified to do so.”

“I know,” Dean demurs. “Nice to hear it every now and then, though.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Castiel sits back up again, trading Dean the tablet for his laptop. “I’ll go through the rest of these emails from his other fans. It’s never ending. I don’t know how Charlie does it. There must be a thousand from yesterday alone. Not to mention his Twitter and Facebook. There are dozens in foreign languages, too. Intellectually, I understand what real fame is, but actually seeing it in action is something else entirely.”

Dean gives him a wry grin as he gets to work reading the rest of Lucifer’s disturbing emails. “She’s the best at her job, too. Lucifer won’t get to Sam, and Charlie will get through thousands of fan letters a day.”

Castiel beams. “I know.” He reaches out and tweaks Dean’s glasses down his nose. “Now get to work.”

“The hell do you think I’ve _been_ doing?” Dean mutters with a smile. But at least the companionable silence is nice.

After about an hour, Castiel says idly, “what do you think all this is like living with?”

Dean glances up. “What do you mean?”

Castiel gestures to his screen. “Thousands of love letters. Practically a day. What do you think it feels like to have all of this unending adulation?”

“You should ask Sam,” Dean snorts. He rolls his shoulders, neck popping. “Now me? I’d be weirded out by all the attention. I was born for the shadows, my friend.”

Grinning lasciviously, Castiel comes in close to distract Dean from his work, which is always highly effective. Planting kisses along his lips and jaw, he murmurs, “really? I guess you do strike me as someone who shines the brightest with a single ray of attention. Undivided, of course.”

Dean’s shirt rucks up as he shifts around to let Castiel’s comforting weight settle on top of him. “We’re kind of alike that way, aren’t we?”

Chuckling, Castiel slips his hands up the back of Dean’s worn, soft t-shirt. “Oh, I’m much more willing to take heaps of praise wherever I can get it. I wouldn’t mind love letters from my admirers.”

“I’m terrible with words,” Dean laughs back.

With a dramatic sigh, Castiel says, “I suppose you’ll have to use your body, then.”

“Win-win,” Dean murmurs, doubling down for more of the physical kind of love note that he’ll never get enough of either giving or receiving.

Naturally, it’s just starting to get interesting when there’s a sturdy knock on the door. Sam’s voice filters through. “You guys naked in there?!”

Castiel laughs loudly and climbs off of Dean, helping him up. “Not yet!” he calls. “Come in!”

The door opens and Sam’s beaming face pops around the threshold. “Please tell me I’m interrupting something.”

Dean chucks one of the many pillows that Castiel insists on, at his brother. “Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, bitch. Why are you here?”

Sam gestures over his shoulder. “Charlie’s stopped by from the office. Said something about going over fan mail with you.” His brow furrows. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

Dean pushes out of the bed. “Nah. Just a lot of it lately. Her team’s getting a little overwhelmed.”

“I can hire more people,” Sam says, straightening up and following Dean down the hall towards the downstairs office. “Does she need them?”

“She’d probably be insulted that you’d ask,” Dean answers. He swings into the office, greeting Charlie with a bear hug and sloppy kiss to the temple. “This could have waited until tomorrow,” he admonishes her. “Especially since you hightailed it out of here to rent an apartment.”

Charlie bats him away. “Slumber party! Besides, we can just get to it in the morning early. I needed that apartment. Better wi-fi.”

“I like the sleepover idea,” Sam says.

“Blanket fort!” Charlie whoops.

Sam laughs. “I’ll get the spare blankets from the linen closet.” He dashes out of the room, and Charlie doesn’t waste a second.

“So?” she asks pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “My spider senses tingling at Lucifer is totally legit, right?”

Grimacing, Dean says, “yeah, I think so. Whoever he is, he’s getting less stable, if the deterioration of coherence in his letters is any indication. We should probably double our efforts to find out his identity.”

With a sigh, Charlie says, “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but yeah. Add that to Sam’s increasing popularity online, the longer we wait, the harder he’ll be to find. Both Sam and his character’s name top a lot of searches these days.”

“I’ll give Bobby a head’s up,” Dean says. “He’s got a lot of contacts. Maybe Jody can be of help if Lucifer’s local.”

“Do what you can, Charlie,” Castiel adds.

Hazel eyes sparkling, Charlie says, “so I’ve got permission to do some digging my way?”

“I don’t want to know about it,” Castiel confirms.

“Plausible deniability. You got it, law man!” Charlie chirps. “I’ll do what I do, and you do what you do, and everything’ll be peachy!”

“That _is_ what I pay you people for,” Sam huffs good-naturedly, reappearing and carrying a stack of blankets that Dean immediately relinquishes in deference to his brother’s injury. He’s obviously only heard the last part of the conversation since he appears completely unbothered.

They have enough space in the living room to situate a handful of chairs and all the blankets to make a sizable fort against the couch. Sam even unearths a box multi-colored Christmas lights that never managed to make it back to the attic after whatever holiday celebrations the last renters had, which he strings up on the inside of the fort with Castiel’s help.

When complete, the rectangular space actually fits the four adults quite comfortably. Charlie dives right in with her laptop to boot up Netflix, while Castiel magnanimously agrees to make the popcorn. He’s the only one who doesn’t burn it, anyway.

Once the of four are settled, Sam says lightly, “so, Charlie, did you know about Dean and Cas?”

Dean groans. “I thought you said you weren’t mad about that anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“That tone is how I know you’re still mad.”

“Only a little,” Sam relents.

“Spill,” Charlie demands, handing off the wireless mouse for Castiel to choose a movie, since he’s the pickiest and shows his displeasure at the movies he doesn’t want to watch by asking asinine questions the whole time.

“Cas and I are fucking,” Dean snipes.

Castiel sighs. “We’re together,” he stresses. “No need to be crude, Dean.”

“You want all the gory details?” Dean says over him. “I can tell you all the gory details, Charlie. All the rough man sex we have.”

“Eww!” Charlie giggles. “Dicks are super gross!”

“Okay!” Sam says loudly. “Okay, fine! I’m still just a _tiny_ bit angry, but it’s not so much at you as it is me. Like I said before: I feel like I should have known sooner. It’s frustrating.”

Charlie beams all around. “Well, I’ll be darned! That’s actually really cool! Don’t need the details, though, thanks. However, I _will_ say that it makes perfect sense.”

Sam laughs outright. “I don’t think I wanna know this, but why do you say that?”

Castiel queues up an action movie he hasn’t seen and says, “I’m certainly interested to know.”

Charlie shrugs, grabbing for the large bowl of popcorn. “Because you’re the kind of couple that people can easily see together. You’re the same level of hot.”

Dean bursts out laughing, despite himself. “Okay, enough of this shit. Can we just watch the movie now?”

Castiel hits play, and then settles up against Dean’s chest where he’s resting against the couch. He pushes the drooping blanket up on the arm of the couch. Charlie wiggles in between them and sees fit to cuddle Sam right as the opening credits of the movie roll.

Dean only half pays attention to the film; despite appearances, he’s not all that into mindless action movies, but he’s comfortable. Truly happy and content for the first time in a long time, only noticing the absence of it once he realizes that he’s got it again. It’s amazing. He loves these people. Charlie and Castiel brought something to the lives of two orphaned brothers, and he feels like he’ll never be able to repay them. Not that they’d ever ask him to. Castiel’s warm hand splays out against his shoulder blades, rubbing gently. It lulls him to semi-consciousness, perfectly fine just to drift in the moment.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Breakfast is a whole other story. Dean’s late to the party. He used to fancy himself a light sleeper, but Castiel still manages to ninja himself out of the bedroom without making a sound. He’s therefore outside the loop when he makes it to the kitchen. Charlie’s cooked for all of them, and loads Dean up a plate for breakfast while the latecomer fixes his own coffee.

Then she sits back down next to Castiel, scrolling on her phone between them, hiding helpless giggles behind her hand.

Castiel’s shoulders begin to shake as he reads whatever is on the phone. He drops his fork onto his plate in favor of covering his mouth to stifle his choking laugh.

“It’s good, right?” Sam laughs, eyes shining.

Castiel coughs, grabs his napkin, and does his best to not aspirate on his scrambled eggs. “Yes,” he gasps.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean says suspiciously. He’s decidedly uncomfortable to be on the outside of whatever the three of them are up to.

“You don’t wanna know,” Sam says. “Seriously, it would just make you mad.”

Dean stares at them both incredulously. “I do have a sense of humor, y’know.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Sam’s probably correct in his assessment this time.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean makes a show of scooping up another bite of eggs, but when Castiel lets his guard down, Dean swipes the phone and scrolls through the page it’s on. He stops scrolling. Reads several lines of the... story? Scrolls some more. His mouth drops open. He can’t be seeing this. What _is_ this? “What the fuck?”

“It’s fanfiction,” Sam explains while Castiel yanks Charlie’s phone back.

“I don’t care what you call it, it was you and me doing something I’ve never even done with Cas! I’m not even sure it’s possible!”

“We could try,” Castiel says mildly.

“Who the fuck wrote that?” Dean demands, not dignifying Castiel with a response.

“Fans,” Sam says with so little incredulity that Dean’s mind boggles.

“They ship you,” Castiel pops the “p” like he just learned the term. Hell, he probably had.

“What does that even _mean_?” Dean abandons his food he’s so... weirded out by this new development in Sam’s fame.

But Sam just laughs. “It means they think we’re hot together.”

“We’re _brothers_ ,” Dean sees fit to remind him, because clearly his brother and his boyfriend have entered some strange mode of collaborative insanity.

Castiel says reasonably, “it’s harmless. And, frankly, it helps Sam’s fame. Fans ship all sorts of things. People, bandmates, characters in television shows-”

“Yes!” Sam cuts in enthusiastically. “Did you know that my character on _Wayward Brothers_ is an OTP? That’s like... tops! It’s the most popular one on Ao3! There are like, _hundreds_ of fics with him and Jensen already! It’s incredible! They’re so creative with romance. And the show only just started airing. I guess all the extra interviews and buzz has done what it was meant to.”

Dean knows his mouth is hanging open, but he physically can’t do anything to rectify the situation. He stares back and forth between Sam and Castiel, though neither of them looks at all bothered. Eventually, all he can come up with to say is a weak, “Your brother on the show? What is it with the internet and incest? Where did you guys find all this stuff?”

“Charlie,” they both answer in unison.

“No shit,” Dean mutters, turning back to his eggs. Breakfast, at least, he still understands. He hopes. He pokes at his hash browns carefully. “And you two are okay with this?”

“Yes,” they say together again.

Dean puts his fork down and sits back listlessly in his chair. “Why?”

Castiel and Sam trade a look, and Castiel nods to Sam. “Well, because it’s awesome,” Sam says simply with his trademark pleading stare. “Think about it, okay? These people online here have watched my shows and movies, and they follow me on Twitter and stuff, and the love me. They love my work. The characters I play. They spend their free time making art about it! Countless hours writing or drawing stuff that I’ve done just because they loved it and want to live in that universe a little bit longer. I think it’s great. Humbling.”

Dean makes a small considering noise. Mulls it over for a minute or two. “Okay, yeah, I guess I can see that, but that fic on your phone? Dude, that was _you_ and _me._ Like, in real life and everything. That’s not Jared and Jensen out upholding supernatural law.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam agrees, “but it’s harmless, like Castiel said. I really don’t mind it. People express their enthusiasm with stuff in different ways. And the people who are interested in my life just as much as my job, or maybe more, express that with... what did Charlie call it?”

“RPF,” Castiel answers immediately, ever the studious nerd. “Real Person Fiction,” he clarifies to Dean.

“Right,” Dean says weakly. “Okay, then. I guess... okay.”

Sam beams wider as Dean beings to sway on the whole situation. “Don’t worry about it. There’s also plenty with me and Cas and you and Cas, too.”

“I took notes,” Castiel quips.

“I’m sure, ya did,” Dean answers.

“For real,” Sam says. “It’s not a big deal. You’ll never see it if you don’t want to. Not like you’re ever on Twitter or Tumblr, anyway.”

“I enjoy the simple life,” Dean answers. “Whatever. Look, I’m gonna just finish my food like a normal person and forget what I just read about me and my brother doing without our damn clothes on.”

Castiel snorts into his coffee. “I told you not to read it.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have been so suspicious about it, then.”

“Legally, I shouldn’t be reading the stuff from the show anyway,” Sam chuckles.

Still reeling in the good vibes from the previous night, Dean sits back and removes himself from the conversation for a few minutes, just to observe. Everyone’s used to it, so they let him withdraw, their banter washing over him like gentle waves. He loves it.

And then his phone pings with the filtered email they’d flagged from Lucifer’s email address.

Keeping his phone’s screen out of visual range, Dean opens the email. It’s only one sentence.

_I will have you, Sam Winchester. We were meant to be_.

With a sick feeling of dread, Dean finishes his breakfast quickly. “Be right back,” he mumbles, shoving back from the table. He catches Castiel’s concerned look, offering his partner a slight shake of his head.

He pulls up the contacts and dials once he’s out of earshot of the group.

“Been a minute, boy,” a gruff voice answers on the second ring.

“Bobby, I need your help and I need it now.” He knows he’s taking chances without any sort of pleasantry to his surrogate uncle, but Lucifer is unwinding. Quickly.

Immediately, no split second of hesitation, Bobby answers, “sure, kid. What’s the profile?”

“Stalker. Mid-thirties. Romantic sadist.”

“That’s bush league. Gimme the goods.”

“He calls himself Lucifer and he’s after Sam. Escalating quickly now that his new show is airing and the golden boy is all over the press like shit on velcro. You seen any of the emails I sent?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says with a distracted tone, probably due to him booting up his computer to review them again. “Didn’t get through all of them yet, but they seemed pretty garden variety creep to me. You sure you’re not too close to this?”

Dean sighs, but it’s a fair question. He’d have been disappointed if Bobby hadn’t considered it. “No, I don’t think I am. He used to send handwritten notes. ‘Bout once a month or so. The more frequently with those. Then he started to email, and sent them more frequently. Now I’m flagging him twice a day. And his last email is pretty... threatening. I’ve got reason to believe he’s visited the set. Not sure if he’s crew, but no one’s approached Sam more than usual that I’ve noticed, and no one’s paying him special attention, so he’s probably just a bystander.”

“Whaddya need from me? More boots?”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean says, “no, I dunno. Tell me I’m not just being paranoid, Bobby. Or hell, tell me that I _am_. Maybe then I’d sleep better at night.”

There’s clear amusement in Bobby’s voice following his snort. “What’s Cas’s take? Does Sam know?”

“We’re keeping Sam out of it, for now. Charlie’s been compiling everything for a police report, and Sam’s manager knows a little just so he can stay on the lookout. Cas thinks it’s as serious as I do. He told me to call you right away.”

“He’s got the beauty and the brains, after all,” Bobby chuckles. “Dean, you know you and Sam are family. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Dean beats a quick retreat up to his lately disused room, shutting the door behind him. “I need some advice. I don’t know what to do here.”

“Yes, you do,” Bobby argues firmly. “You just don’t wanna risk making the wrong move where your baby brother’s concerned. I get that. But you’re not gonna go that way. You never do. Just keep a clear head and you’ll get the answers you’re looking for. Break it down. Put it into parts. What’s your man like?”

Dean pauses to think. Categorize the information. If anyone was going to help him get where he needed to be, it would be his best teacher. “I’m sold on male. Reads late thirties, like I said. Maybe early forties. Well-spoken and organized. His writing is extremely deliberate, so he’s a planner. His fixation has made him seem pretty patient. But apparently seeing more of Sam on TV regularly in interviews and with the show starting, he’s getting agitated. Impatient. If it goes on without the response he needs, I’m concerned he’s gonna want to act.”

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right,” Bobby notes. “Better hope he’s just a stalker and not prone to violence, or else he might come after people close to him, too. You and Cas’s mug’s’ve been on the TV, too, and people are talking about the family connection.”

“Christ,” Dean breathes. “That’s what I was worried about. I’ll have Charlie and Gabriel monitor the feeds extra for now. See if there’s any correlation between Lucifer’s emails and that. So far I don’t think he’s the violent type.”

“You need to find him,” Bobby says. “Find out who he _really_ is. I’m reading the recent emails right now. You’re not wrong about being worried. Can y’all get me pictures of the fans who visit the set regularly? I can run backgrounds on the crew, too.”

The generosity makes Dean deflect. “You don’t need to go to all that trouble, Bobby. There are dozens of people on crew. Hundred or so that show up to the location shoots. It’s a lot of work.”

“Work I’m happy to do,” Bobby says with an insulted edge to his tone. “Don’t want neither of my boys stepping in it. You get me pictures of fans and a list of crew, and I’ll get to work. This semi-retirement needs to be good for something.”

Grinning, Dean says, “I’ll give you half. This is my job, too. I appreciate the help, Bobby. For real.”

“‘S’why I’m here,” Bobby answers gruffly. “Take care.”

“You, too.”

Dean hangs up, feeling marginally better now that his thoughts are in order. Though, he also feels marginally worse knowing that he’s totally right.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Getting pictures of the fans turns out to be easier than intended. In fact, they’re all too happy to pose for Dean and Castiel to snap shots of all of them. Dean gets wrestled into more photos than he wanted, but it’s part of the job, he supposes. And he’s positive that they’ll turn up on Instagram eventually. He’ll never understand how he and Castiel have become somewhat of a pair of celebrities themselves, but to each their own. A small part of him doesn’t mind being treated like a rock star.

Thankfully, Sam’s too wrapped up in filming to notice or comment on Dean and Castiel’s extracurricular activities, to which Dean, at least, is eternally grateful. He’s great at lying, but would rather not have to. His brother reacts poorly enough to lies in general from the people he loves, for his own safety or not. Plus, Dean’s just barely out of the doghouse as it is.

“Anything?” Castiel breaks into his thoughts as they troop back to the soundstage for lunch.

Dean shakes his head. “No one stood out more than any other. They’re _all_ in love with Sam, so I can’t rule any of that stuff out, but no one seemed hyper-fixated.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t here today.”

“Yeah, we’ll probably have to do this a few more times over the next week. But I’m pretty sure if Lucifer isn’t actually showing up today, he won’t be able to stay away for long. Look for anyone who seems either too determined to get in a picture, or one who hangs back or tries to leave once we start snapping. He wants to be identified in his own time. If he gets suspicious, it could put him off.”

“Noted,” Castiel agrees. He shoots Dean a fond look. “You’re really good at this.”

Dean’s shoulder tips up. “Wish I wasn’t, but the world is a crazy place. Figured it’s my calling to try to make it better where I can.”

Before going inside and being overheard, Dean dials Charlie. “Hey, I’m uploading some pictures when I get back to my laptop. You do your marginally legal thing, and I’ll have Bobby follow up on the crew list. See if anything pops.”

“You got it!” Charlie says brightly. “You’ll be the first to know if and when I find anything.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up and holds the heavy studio door open for Castiel.

“Should we tell him?” Castiel asks, nodding towards the tallest Winchester.

“When we have some actual information,” Dean says, holding up his hands placatingly when Castiel looks like he’s about to launch into a whole speech about withholding from Sam. “He can’t do anything different for now. We need a name or a face. If Sam gets paranoid - which he will - it won’t do anyone any good. Once we have an I.D., we’ll put him on alert. He’s as safe as we can make him.”

Castiel’s lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue. “You’re right. Sam has enough to do already without looking out for a ghost. He knows he has stalkers and he’s vigilant.”

Sam catches sight of them, waving them over with a huge grin. Sitting on his makeup table is a huge vase of blood red roses. It looks like two dozen, at least. “Check it out, guys! No one’s ever sent me flowers before!”

Castiel smiles. “They’re beautiful. Who are they from?”

Sam holds out the card. “Dunno. The card only has initials. Recognize them?”

Castiel barely glances at the card before he turns his wrist so Dean can see it without so much as a single facial muscle twitching.

Shit.

_Sam, congratulations on the show’s reception. You’re a vision. I look forward to seeing you more. - L.P._

When Sam turns to speak to a PA, Dean slips the note into his inner coat pocket.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

“I know,” Dean says grimly. He glances towards his brother, and whispers, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience! It's been crazy in my life lately.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's an apology early release chapter for y'all having to wait so long for the last one!
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!** Filming takes a hiatus for the holidays. Dean meets with Jody. Castiel is overwhelmed by the Winchester family Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter tags:**  
>  improper use of real handcuffs  
> oral sex  
> feels  
> Bobby Singer

The last couple weeks of filming go off without a hitch for Sam, but Castiel and Dean have their work cut out for them. They have limited official resources in Canada, but the set security turns out to be pretty damn amazing. In their office, set up with dozens of high definition screens, they monitor the cameras and even bring in a large evidence board to pin up pictures of everyone, so that new faces are identified and tracked immediately. No gifts or unscheduled deliveries for the actors are accepted, and Castiel and Dean manage to collect plenty of photographs good enough to be run through facial recognition once they have the full weight of Bobby and Charlie’s contacts behind them to do so with alacrity. Dean thanks every one of the security guards and tech analysts for taking him seriously and not thinking he’s making a mountain out of a molehill since stalkers are fairly common on film sets. He makes a mental note to buy them all a case of beer each after the hiatus. Castiel suggests a fruit basket, but that’s boring.

So until they can get back home, Dean and Castiel wait. They keep their eyes open. And Sam is none the wiser in the end as they pack up their belongings and make the trip back to Texas for the Christmas and New Year’s hiatus.

Dean breathes a definite sigh of relief once they’re back on familiar ground. With a familiar security system. With his familiar badge being worth something again. They’ll all sleep easier tonight. Especially with Dean having lined up meetings with both his old boss tomorrow, and Bobby later in the week.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Castiel can count on one hand the things he can’t resist. In fact, he prides himself on that particular character trait. But today, one of those things is standing right in front of him this very minute, and he’s in serious danger of being completely unprofessional because of it.

Yes, he can resist most things, but Dean Winchester in a tailored suit, looking from head to toe the part of the cop he used to be, is not one of those things. Especially now that he knows what Dean feels like under him. What the man is _capable_ of.

He moans softly, hoping it will release a little bit of the pressure.

Too bad that Dean hears him from where he’s fixing his tie in front of the full length mirror attached to the back of their closet door. He peeks up at Castiel, not surprised to catch him staring and drawls, “problems there, sunshine?”

“Yes,” Castiel frowns. “Many.” He slips up behind Dean, palming over his shoulders, making a show of brushing the nonexistent wrinkles from his jacket. Voice pitched lower, he says, “so very many.” He gives the waist of Dean’s jacket a hard, frustrated tug.

Dean turns, easing into Castiel’s arms naturally. “You’ve been taking suits off of me for months now, Cas.”

“Not your _cop_ suits,” Castiel protests. “All you need is your badge and gun, and I’m done for.”

“Are you _whining_?” Dean teases. “I thought you _never_ did that.”

“I’m whining,” Castiel gripes. “I have a fetish, and you’re pushing all my buttons, and I’m goddamn whining.”

The feral grin that spreads over Dean’s face almost flattens Castiel. That is, of course, until Dean sways even closer, wafting his spiced cologne. His warm lips pick a path to Castiel’s ear, teeth nipping the lobe softly. He murmurs, “badge and gun, huh?” Then he pulls back and tucks the tail of his jacket behind his holster, revealing those two cursed objects clipped to his belt.

Castiel drops to his knees. Rips at the zipper on Dean’s dress pants.

And for the token protest he puts up, it doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice that Dean’s getting hard. “Captain Mills wants me at the station in an hour,” he moans.

“You’ll be there,” Castiel promises, mouth watering at the sight of Dean’s perfect cock. “But I’ve been dreaming about this since forever. Please let me.” He knows the begging tinged with whining isn’t the most attractive thing he’s ever done, but he _needs_ this like air. He really has been dreaming about it since he first met Dean all trussed up in his blues. There’s only one thing left that would step it up from divine to perfect.

His hands roam to Dean’s toned ass, dragging him forward when he feels cold metal against his fingers and shudders almost violently. _Now_ it’s perfect.

“Ah,” Dean breathes, smug. “Find something you like?”

“May I?” Castiel groans hoarsely, peering up at Dean with wide, pleading eyes. Seeing him from this angle is transcendent.

Dean’s fingers sift through Castiel’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Go for it.”

Castiel removes the cuffs from the holder on the back of Dean’s belt, slowly cinching them on his left wrist. _Real cuffs_. Hard metal, and can only be unlocked with the key. They shouldn’t really be used in the bedroom since they disallow quick release in case of emergency, but _oh, the foolish fantasy of it all_.

And Dean doesn’t hesitate for a second to bring his right arm forward to be secured as well.

God, it’s so hot.

Cocky grin pulling up his full lips, and a flush high in his cheeks, Dean says, “gonna read me my rights?”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Castiel growls, diving in so fast that Dean slams up against the closet door. The noise he tries to bite back is beautiful. Then he’s silent, as ordered, save for his ragged breathing.

And since he’s being so good, so _agreeable_ , Castiel wastes no time. He licks his lips to wet them, then slowly lets Dean’s dick fill his mouth, adjusting as fast as he can to not gag on it. He adores the thick length - a true mouthful because of the girth, but not quite long enough to be problematic in this pursuit. It stretches his jaw open deliciously, and he feels blessed when he’s able to take in the whole of it. Every single part of Dean is a gift.

Dean puts his arms over Castiel’s head, cuffs rattling, the cold metal against the back of Castiel’s neck like a brand against his overheated skin. It’s so much more than his wildest imaginings. He could do this forever. Too bad they haven’t got that much time this morning. But he’ll still take what he can get and be grateful for the rest of his life.

Dean’s pleasure is a sharp point in Castiel’s senses. Absolutely everything he has to give is solely dedicated to chasing it. Dean is _so good_. Unquestioning of Castiel’s needs, doing his very best to meet them. The soft whispers of praise interspersed with gasps when Castiel’s tongue manages a particularly nice touch. Dean enjoys toeing the line of compliance. Technically he’s not making any unnecessary noise, but the dirty whispering is something that normally Castiel would discipline.

But his bratty sub is everything to him like this today.

Especially when he has so much to say about how good Castiel’s lips look around his cock.

The subtle thrust of his hips, the way his hands cup the back of Castiel’s skull. It’s _so much_.

Dean’s breathing hitches, hips stuttering off rhythm, and Castiel relaxes his throat, prepared, feeling like the luckiest bastard on the planet in this moment.

Dean can’t contain a short cry as his body curls forward with the power of his release.

Castiel swallows, as satisfied as if he’d come himself. Knowing his expression is equally sated when he pulls off to look up at lovely Dean, eyes bright, lips parted and red from biting them.

With a smile, Castiel carefully tucks Dean back into his boxers and slacks, then wobbles to his feet. “Thank you for letting me do that,” he says sincerely.

Dean holds his hands up, and while Castiel takes the key from the holder to free him, says, “I’m all about the wish fulfilment. Trust me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Castiel chuckles. “I completely disagree.” He massages Dean’s wrists for a moment to soothe them, though they hadn’t been secured tightly enough to hurt. Dean leans in for a sloppy, uncoordinated-in-the-afterglow kiss. Castiel laughs into it, so very happy.

“I’ll pay you back later.”

Castiel takes Dean’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly. “Dean, I don’t do any of this because I expect something in return. Not ever.” At Dean’s confused look, Castiel thumbs over his brow, smoothing it. “I do it all because it makes me happy to. Because I love you.”

Dean kisses him. He’ll never get tired of hearing it. “Tell me again,” he murmurs in a fit of ridiculous sentimentality.

Castiel’s smile is tender, eyes bright. A complete contrast to his sexed-out hair and swollen, glistening lips. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

The warmth that suffuses him is worth all the saccharine embarrassment in the world. “I love you, too.”

There’s a beat where time, life, work, can’t interfere, but then Dean is pulling away, not one to be brave enough to leave Sheriff Mills waiting. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll be here,” Castiel promises.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Jody Mills is one of Dean’s favorite people in the whole world. She is equally terrifying and maternal. Pretty much like a good mother should be, Dean assumes. His mother had died when he was too young to really know that for sure, but he loves Sheriff Mills.

She gives him a strong hug when he enters her office not a minute late. “You’re looking good, kiddo! The private sector suits ya.”

“Technically, I’m still a contractor for you,” Dean grins, easing into the chair in front of her desk.

She makes an amused noise. “Sure, if only to use the assets here. Like all these backgrounds you’re having me and Bobby Singer run. Not to mention identifying all of Sam’s adoring fans. Isn’t this some serious breach of privacy?”

Dean shrugs with a small, “eh.”

She gives him a pointed look. “You’re toeing the legal line here, bucko, and I’d appreciate knowing why. Bobby did his normal, paranoid, ‘need to know only’ crap, and if I didn’t know him well enough to trust him, I wouldn’t be doing this.” She shoves a cardboard box across her desk.

Dean pulls off the top to reveal a stack of file folders. More than he’d anticipated. “These all the ones identified with criminal records?”

“Yeah,” Jody confirms. “American citizens only. Bobby and the Feds can deal with international criminals if they want, but snooping across borders is definitely out of my jurisdiction. I love you, but I’m serious about keeping my career intact.”

“I get that,” Dean assures her. “That’s why I had Charlie only send you the locals.”

“Your media guru is pretty amazing,” Jody says, impressed. “If she ever wants something else to do...”

Dean grins. “I’ll let her know, but I’m not sure you wanna see her _actual_ resume.”

“Good to know,” she says suspiciously. “So. Now that you got what you came for, you gonna tell me what in the world is going on?”

Dean drapes back in the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. “What’s Bobby told you?”

Leaning her arms on the desk, Jody says, “he told me it’s about Sam’s safety to butter me up.” She scrunches up her face and drops her voice to a low drawl, a pretty good imitation of Bobby, in fact. “‘Sam’s in trouble and that should be enough for ya, Mills.’”

Dean laughs. “Man, he really is the most paranoid guy I know. It’s not top secret information. Sam’s got a hell of a stalker, and we need to identify him so he doesn’t get close. I have reason to believe that if he gets to Sam it’ll be bad.”

Frowning seriously, Jody says, “and you didn’t come to me sooner with this, why?”

“Because Cas and I can handle it.”

“Clearly you can’t,” she bites back. “If you could, you wouldn’t have called in a favor with me.”

Dean’s feet hit the floor hard, and he leans over the desk mirroring Jody. “I can handle it, Sheriff,” he says slowly, enunciating every word. Then, at his normal cadence, “it’s just that Sam has too damn many fans. It would’a taken us weeks to identify even half of them with our limited resources, and this Lucifer guy ain’t gonna wait around that long. We think he’s already been to the set. I need to know his face. You and Bobby have the resources to help this go a lot faster. And I trust you.”

Jody reaches out and smacks him on the arm. “I’m not questioning your ability, Dean. I trained you as a beat cop myself. Bobby made you even better with the Feds. I _know_ you can keep Sam out of harm’s way. That’s not news. I just...” she sighs, deflating a little. “I love you guys. I wanna be a part of this.”

Dean covers her hand with his. “I understand. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. But you got your own thing going on. You gotta know I would call you the second I was in over my head. I did this time. If we can just get an I.D., Cas and I can do the rest. But time’s not on our side here.”

Satisfied, Jody sits up again, nodding to the box. “Be careful, okay? There are some real winners in there.”

“All fit my profile?”

“Yep. You’d think creepers in their thirties and forties would have better things to do than hang out on film sets in Vancouver.”

Dean stands, hefting the box. “You’d be surprised.”

“Not anymore,” she retorts. “Let me know what you find. And if your man shows up in our neck of the woods, drop a dime.”

“Will do.” Dean pauses at the door and turns back. “Thanks for everything, Jody.”

She winks. “Anytime. Don’t make yourself a stranger, okay?”

He salutes her casually with his free hand. “You, too.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

It takes three days of sifting through Jody’s files and the info Charlie’s dug up to realize they’ve got bupkis. Dean slaps the last file onto the office’s table with a short grunt of rage. “Fucking nothing,” he mutters.

Castiel is at the desk taking care of the electronic files. He turns in his chair. “Same here. What are the chances he didn’t visit the set for the two weeks we were collecting intel?”

“None,” a voice says from the doorway.

Castiel’s face lights up as his eyes track over Dean’s shoulder to the man standing there. “Bobby, hello,” he says jumping to his feet, sounding formal, but shaking the retired agent’s hand vigorously.

“Good to see ya, Cas,” Bobby greets. “Dean,” he nods.

“Aw, hell,” Dean says, standing and giving the man a full-bodied hug. “Thanks for coming all this way.”

“Too much snow up north,” he says gruffly. “Figured it was time for a vacation, especially after all the work you made me do. As long as I got an internet connection, I can work from anywhere, though I’m not too keen on stamping my passport in Vancouver.”

Dean smiles privately. Bobby doesn’t even _have_ a passport. He turned in his Federal passport when he retired, and never bothered to apply for a personal one. Castiel takes Bobby’s flimsy excuse for what it is, but Dean can see through it. It’s almost Christmas, and Bobby wants to be with his family, whether he wants to tell them that or not.

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” Castiel is saying. “There’s plenty of room. Are you staying for Christmas? Please stay for Christmas.”

Dean swallows his laugh. No matter how much time passes, Castiel still gets a bit star struck around Bobby Singer, despite all the _actually_ famous people he’s met. Then again, in the True Crime fandom, of which Castiel Novak is a card carrying member, Bobby is freaking legendary. If Dean hadn’t known him as a surrogate father, he probably would have been acting the same way.

“Yeah, sure,” Bobby says gruffly, like he hadn’t been planning it the whole time. “Gotta keep y’all in line and whatnot.”

Grinning wide, Dean says, “sounds like a plan. Sam’s somewhere around.”

“I’ll find him,” Bobby says. “Don’t work all night. There’s beer to drink.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says to Bobby’s retreating back. He looks to Castiel to make a quip, but his partner is staring out the open door like he just witnessed a miracle. “Should I be suspicious of my boyfriend finding himself an older gentlemen?” he asks primly.

Castiel’s head whips around. “What?”

Dean bursts out laughing again. “Dude!”

“What?” Castiel repeats sourly.

“I never would’a guessed Bobby’d be my competition.”

Castiel’s face screws up with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re looking at him like he’s your favorite hamburger.”

The scandalized look on Castiel’s face is enough to send Dean into another peal of laughter. “He’s my _mentor_ ,” Castiel says, insulted.

“Yeah, well, he can’t take a joke, either,” Dean chuckles.

“Maybe you should consider being funny next time.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“I believe you think you are.”

“Asshole.”

Castiel’s smile is quick and sharp. He winks. “Yes.”

Dean rocks back in his heels, impressed. “You tried to play me, huh? Gotta say, you got one over on me, man. Psyching out a profiler is big game. You know who else does that?” He leans close. Murmurs seductively, “sociopaths.”

The punch to his arm is kinda painful. But then Castiel is back to his robotic self again. All business. “Why is Bobby here?”

Dean shrugs. “He comes every Christmas and pretends it’s some bigger reason like getting bored with life in South Dakota.”

“Oh? I don’t remember seeing him the last couple of years.”

“That’s ‘cause he was gone before you got back from vacation. Sticking around this year?”

Castiel tilts his head from side to side in a non-committal gesture, approaching Dean and tugging affectionately on the collar of his shirt. “Are you?”

That’s not even a question. Undivided family time with his extended family is more precious to him than air. Dean leans in for a kiss. Explores every bit of Castiel’s lips with tiny nips of his own lips, gentle bites of his teeth. Back and forth until Castiel’s nerves are buzzing and he feels like a drifting balloon. “Stay with us this year,” Dean murmurs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says in a cracked voice. “Not ever.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Christmas is a hell of thing for the Winchesters, Castiel finds out as soon as the season really starts to kick off.

Because of the security risks, Sam can’t venture into a mall or department store with the holiday shopping crowds, but he makes up for it by single handedly keeping shipping companies in business. In fact, once the packages start to arrive, they don’t seem to _stop_ arriving. From all over the world. Dean’s no slouch, either. He gives away a huge chunk of his annual bonus to internet stores, and the longer this goes on, the more Castiel starts to think he might have underestimated his own shopping strategy.

Bobby tells him to not think about it too hard. But he gives the same gifts every year. Top shelf alcohol to everyone, and a mint condition classic skin mag that Sam and Dean laugh about coming from Bobby’s own personal collection. Though Castiel suspects, in reality, a long time of planning and researching is what brings those magazines. Even Charlie and Gabriel have been added to the list in recent years.

Plus Bobby’s a hoarder. He’d never get rid of his own collection of anything for any reason, family be damned.

“I think everything on my list finally arrived,” Sam says happily over lunch on Christmas Eve.

“There’s not gonna be enough room under the tree for all the shit I’ve signed for for you,” Dean says.

“There’s not going to be enough room in the _room_ for all the things the both of you have bought,” Castiel counters.

Gabriel enters the living room carrying a stack of gifts taller than he is. Sam, arm healed, rushes to help him as they teeter on the brink of spilling everywhere. “I felt like I was going to be wrapping gifts until Doomsday,” Gabriel puffs, relinquishing half the load to Sam gratefully.

“That’s why you pay Charlie to do it for you,” Sam points out.

“Never again,” Charlie argues, also packed to the gills with presents and trailing behind Gabriel. “You not only severely underestimated how many gifts you actually bought, but also how much love I have for you to wrap them. My paper cuts got paper cuts.”

Castiel frowns at the growing mountain of gifts. “I should have bought more,” he says sullenly.

Laughing, Dean drapes an arm over the man’s shoulders. “Nah. We’re just like this. Really, it’s the thought that counts. You don’t have to enter the Winchester Gift Buying Until We Go Broke Extravaganza.”

Sam explains, “Dean and I started this whole, fill the house with presents thing, because we’ve always been really poor. But when I started to get famous, and he got a few promotions, well...” he gestures towards the gifts. “Sorta just happened. All that money we didn’t need went to making up for years of going without a big holiday.”

Right then and there, Castiel makes a promise to himself to go equally overboard next year, as touched as he is by the sentiment.

“I never partake,” Bobby says, three cups of eggnog ahead of everyone else. “You get what you get.”

“I’m hoping for some black label whiskey this year,” Sam says cheerfully. “And Anna Nicole.”

That sets Bobby to laughing. “Santa might just pull through this time around.”

Rubbing his hands together vigorously, Sam says, “everyone ready for the big Christmas dinner? Benny brought it in a few minutes ago.”

They’ll all off to the kitchen like a shot. Or, rather, Dean, Sam, and Charlie are. The adults follow at a much more sedate pace to discover Benny dishing up more Chinese food than the whole of them can eat in a lifetime. It stands to reason Dean and Sam will try, though.

Castiel casts a bemused look over all the food. “I actually thought you’d all be traditionalists for the holiday meal.”

“ _Psh_. There’s not a one among us who can cook like that,” Dean says. “Don’t complain, or you’ll go to bed without dinner, young man.”

With a self-deprecating laugh, Castiel says, “I’m not complaining. This is far more than I’m used to.”

“At least we break out the fine china,” Sam says, passing him one of the gold-edged plates. “Dig in, everyone!”

Since Benny ordered, delivered, and took the time to set the food up, he’s given first pick. Dean’s shoved to the end of the line since he’s well-known for never leaving enough of his favorites for anyone else to share.

It’s noisy and messy and Castiel can only sit back half the time and watch. It’s a marvel. He’d come to accept the Winchester family on some level, but he’s only really been around Sam and Dean before for any significant length of time. Just the two of them are enough of a handful, but they’re not quite as... overwhelming. Bobby they don’t see often, and it’s uncommon for Charlie and Gabriel to be around much in an unofficial capacity, so it seems as though the brothers try to make up for lost time in decibel levels.

Castiel loves it. Can’t imagine being anywhere else. Hates himself for spending the last years running away for some privacy in a snowy cabin rather than getting partially drunk on eggnog, ears ringing from the boisterous celebrations.

And this ragtag family can go on celebrating for a _very_ long time. It’s after midnight by the time Bobby drops off on the couch in the middle of a classic Christmas movie, Charlie slipping onto his shoulder a few minutes later.

Sam and Gabriel disappear the second the credits roll, and Castiel and Dean wisely give them some time to get behind closed doors before climbing the stairs themselves.

“I wish we hadn’t drank so much,” Castiel says, stumbling a little bit on the stairs. “I was looking forward to tying you up like a Christmas gift for myself, but BDSM and inebriation don’t go well together.”

Chuckling, Dean helps him down the hall, leaning heavily on each other, though they’re not quite drunk enough to be sloppy. “I’m too tired anyway. Every year I forget how much energy Christmas takes.”

“I’ve had a wonderful time.” Castiel backs Dean up against the bedroom door, kissing him deeply, tasting a strange mixture of ginger and eggnog.

Breathing heavily, boneless against him, Dean grabs for the doorknob, twisting it and tumbling them both inside.

“I suppose we’ll have to wake up early in order to open presents,” Castiel says, as close to giggling as he gets.

“Yeah,” Dean grins into Castiel’s next kiss. “Ass o’clock is Sammy’s wakeup time, and don’t think for a _second_ he won’t come jump on the bed to get us up.”

“Tempting,” Castiel teases. He uses the weight of his body and stumbling forward momentum to guide them to the bed. Clothes come off in short order, though neither of them happen to have the coordination or the energy to do more than some light making out.

But once they’re tucked into bed facing each other, feet tangled together, reveling in each other’s heat, Castiel reaches behind his head to grab for something on his night stand. He holds it out to Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asks lazily, taking the wrapped present.

“Something for your eyes only,” Castiel smiles. “An early Christmas gift. Open it.”

Eyes sparkling, Dean asks, “is it kinky?”

Castiel shrugs.

Dean sits up, ripping at the paper to reveal a rectangular box. He opens the lid and stops, staring. Reaches to touch it. Aborts the movement.

Castiel sits up next to him. “It’s an anklet. Only you and I will know about it. Or you can wear it as a bracelet. Or...” Dean glances up and Castiel is red to his roots. “Or not at all if you don’t like jewelry. It’s not as important as the sentiment behind it.”

Gingerly, Dean removes the thick platinum band from the velvet. It’s a good weight in his hands. He brings it closer to his eyes to see the delicately etched inscription. “amans, servo suo, socium, in sempiternum,” he reads.

Castiel takes the anklet, drawing his gaze up. “Lover, servant, partner, forever,” he murmurs. “May I?”

Dean slips his left foot out from under the covers, heart swelling. “Yes.”

Castiel’s hands feel remarkable on his skin, opening the latch so that it can fit over his foot. He clicks it shut and it fits snugly to his leg. “The latch is meant to be locked,” he says hesitantly.

“So it can never come off without the special screw,” Dean says just as softly.

“Yes.” The admission barely makes a sound.

“Do it,” Dean urges, just as softly.

Castiel twists the tiny screw until it’s flush with the anklet’s edge and removes the sliver of the key, reaching behind himself again to place it on the night table.

Dean’s breathing hitches. “Cas,” he whispers.

Stroking up Dean’s calf reverently, Castiel says, “I find collars to be somewhat unimaginative.”

Dean huffs what could be a small laugh. “You have about ten of them in your box.”

“They’re for play only. There’s no special meaning behind them.” His fingers draw delicate patterns over Dean’s ankle. “But this...” he touches the metal. He looks up, eyes searching Dean’s. “I’ve never done this for anyone else.” He shakes his head. “Nothing like this.”

“You didn’t have to,” Dean answers, pretending his voice is so tremulous because he’s still slightly tipsy. But when Castiel’s face falls, he rushes to add, “I love it. Love you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know. I mean. I wanna wear it. For as long as you want me to.”

Castiel takes both of Dean’s fiddling hands in his. Squeezes a reassuring, if trembling, pressure. “Dean Michael Winchester, I’d like you to agree to marry me,” he says in a thick voice.

Dean’s response isn’t immediate. For a full thirty seconds, he’s as still as a statue. But the words are out, and Castiel means them. He’d planned for them. Therefore he ignores his racing heart, his absolute terror at asking, and levels Dean with the calmest, steadiest look he can muster.

Slowly, Dean’s frozen features begin to thaw. A beatific smile creeps across his face. “Castiel James Novak,” he says in an even more shaking voice. “Kiss me right the fuck now.”

Acting on instinct to Dean’s behest, Castiel kisses him. It’s long, full, and... salty? He tries to pull away to get a better look at Dean’s expression, but Dean slides his head down Castiel’s face to tuck into his neck. It feels wet. Castiel sifts his fingers through Dean’s hair, bracing against the back of his neck. Holding him tight. “Marry me, Dean,” he says to the crown of Dean’s head.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Yeah, you bet your ass I will.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Dean and Castiel announce their engagement. Sam insists on hosting the wedding. Missouri Moseley presides over all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tags for this chapter:**  
>  comfort bondage  
> power bottom!Castiel  
> top!Dean

After breakfast and presents, Castiel breaks the good news to everyone. “Dean and I have come to the decision that we should get married. So, we are. Getting married.” As if he needs to say it twice.

Sam stops stuffing wrapping paper into garbage bags.

Bobby misses his mouth with his coffee mug and spills a bit down his front.

Charlie stops fiddling with her new high tech headphones.

Gabriel keeps on eating his peppermint biscotti.

Dead silence fills the room.

Castiel and Dean stand before all of them holding hands. Dean’s palm starts to itch. But he feels like moving to scratch it would be a bad idea. Irrational thoughts are common in these sorts of situations, he vaguely recalls.

Castiel clears his throat.

Sam coughs. Everyone turns their attention to him. “Hey, uh, Cas? Can I have word, please? In private?”

Castiel glances at Dean. Dean blinks. He’s absolutely no help here.

“Of course, Sam,” Castiel says. He follows Sam out of the room, unsure of what it means that he can’t hear movement or speaking once he’s gone.

Sam guides them to the library, closing the door behind them. When he faces his best friend, his face is a confusing mixture of approval and consternation. “Dude,” he says accusingly.

Castiel clasps his hands together. “Should I be apologizing to you right now?”

“What?” Sam exclaims. “No! Not at all! It’s just... I mean, really? You and Dean forever? Like... _forever_ , forever?”

“Yes, I would like to spend the rest of my life with Dean,” Castiel confirms, falling back on his biggest vice, which is formality. “If you would give us your blessing, of course. It occurs to me now that I should have asked for it first before proposing. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t realize he’s wringing his hands until Sam physically stops him. And he’s smiling fit to burst. “It’s a good thing, Cas. Dean’s...” he takes a step back, releasing Castiel and leaning back against the desk. “Honestly? I never thought Dean would be the marrying type. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed that he keeps most people at arm’s length. It takes a lot to get under his guard. And far enough for him to want to marry you? It’s never even crossed my mind before. Then again, nothing about your relationship with him has been predictable for me, so. You know.”

Castiel nods. “I’ve certainly noticed. Frankly, I didn’t know anything about him until he agreed to enter a relationship with me. Even then...” he rubs the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Sam says gently. “Don’t try to talk yourself out of this, or think that I’m trying to talk you out of it either, because I’m not. You know more about Dean than you think you do. Sure, you’ve heard a lot of what’s happened to him, and the things he’s done. But you also know about _who_ he is. What makes him tick. You probably know more about him in that regard than I do. He loves you. And the list of people he truly loves is pretty damn short.”

Castiel folds himself into the overstuffed armchair. “Sam, at the risk of sounding ridiculous, being invited into your life, and Dean’s, has been the most remarkable thing to ever happen to me. I hardly imagined such a complete change to my life that day you said hello to me in the Stanford dining hall.”

Sam chuckles. “Ah, the memories. You tried to brush me off, but I stuck around. And getting to know you, I thought-”

Castiel cuts in, amused now, too. “You thought, ‘wow, this friendship is going to take a _lot_ of work.’“

They both burst into laughter at the shared memories.

But in all honesty, Castiel can’t even find the words to thank Sam for his tenacity all those years ago. Without him, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have this friendship. He wouldn’t have Dean. He wouldn’t have the best years of his life ahead of him with the Winchesters. “Thank you, Sam,” he says, a helplessly simple thing to say, but it’s all he has.

Sam reads the wealth of emotion behind it, though. “You’re welcome. And... you’re really sure? With Dean? In sickness and in health? For better or for worse? He’s mostly worse.”

“I realize that,” Castiel chortles. “I may not know _exactly_ what I’m getting myself into, but I’m ready for it. I love Dean more than anyone I’ve ever been with. I love you more than any friend, or perhaps... brother that I’ve ever had. The ‘worse’ would be leaving the life you’ve helped me have. Giving it up.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. Pauses for a beat. “I’m paying for the wedding,” he says decisively.

Castiel startles. “Oh, Sam, no, that’s-”

“-That’s the end of it. I’m paying for it. Dean won’t want a huge thing, anyway. Probably here at the house with family and close friends only.” He stands straight again. “Oh! And be prepared. He’ll want a short engagement. He’s not at all patient with anything. Especially life changes, since he hates them, and will try to talk himself out of them if he doesn’t just dive in head first.”

Castiel stands with him, a tiny smirk on his face. “Well, I _had_ planned to wait a bit longer to ask him, but I just looked at him last night and thought, ‘I’d marry this man tomorrow.’ So I took the plunge, as it were. Dean and I are of the same mind in this regard.”

“I guess that’s all I really needed to know.” Shaking his head fondly, Sam leads them out of the office and back towards the living room. He claps his best friend on the shoulder. “You guys have come a long way. I’m still trying to wrap my head around you being a couple, seeing as how I didn’t find out until recently, and here you are about to get married!”

Frowning again, Castiel says, “would it be better if we waited, after all? I want the entire family going into this next step without a single doubt.”

“I don’t have doubts,” Sam assures him. “It’s just surprising. But I swear I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

Back in the living room, the rest of the family is kicked back drinking coffee like they haven’t got a care in the world. “Oh, good,” Dean says, glancing to the doorway. “Sam didn’t kill ya.”

“And miss out on you flubbing your marriage vows and crying? Not a chance,” Sam returns.

“You’re the crier, big guy,” Dean cuts back.

“Enough, children,” Bobby drones. “Everything good to go?”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a grin. “Cas asked for my blessing, and got it, and I’m paying for the wedding, so plan away.”

Bobby laughs. “Sounds about right.”

Dean leans back on the couch, looking at his brother upside down. “I’ll take all your money happily, Sammy. As long as you’ll be my best man, and all that shit.”

Even though it’s said lightly, Sam still sincerely looks like he’s about to cry. “I’d be honored, man. For real.”

Castiel turns his attention to Charlie. “Charlie, I was wondering if you might... for me...”

Charlie squeals and throws herself into Castiel’s arms, crashing them both to the floor. “I look _great_ in a tuxedo!” she yells.

“No upstaging the grooms,” Gabriel says mildly.

She clambers off Castiel with an _oof_. “Hey, you can’t shut this down!” she insists, indicating her entire body. “Anyway! When’s your preference for the big day?”

Dean nods towards his computer. “We have the schedule open already.”

Sam helps Castiel back to his feet with a small laugh. “I warned you.”

“Well,” Castiel says magnanimously, “we do have a tight work schedule. There are limited dates for a proper wedding, if we want to have one.”

“We do!” Charlie says, raising her hand.

“Hell to the yes!” Gabriel adds.

“I’m retired, so I don’t give a shit,” Bobby says.

Sam smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for making y’all plan your wedding around me.”

“That’s what people do for their employers who are also their brothers,” Dean says breezily. “No worries. At least it makes it easier since our schedules are all the same. Okay, so filming starts again February fifth. After that, most of your weekends are booked, starting with the convention in Atlanta. We either do it in the next few weeks, or we wait until filming’s wrapped completely.”

“Could we even pull something together in that amount of time?” Castiel asks.

“I totally could,” Charlie offers.

Dean blinks. “Uh, hey, Cas, you aren’t concerned with a Vegas-style, whirlwind three week engagement?”

“Why would I be?” Castiel answers, walking over to Dean and staring down at him. “Three weeks or three years won’t change anything. I’ve never had a preference either way for big or small. I also won’t get cold feet. It’s only a formality. When I asked you to marry me, I meant that I would do it in a second without reservation.”

“He told me so,” Sam offers with a smug expression.

Dean glances to his brother, finds nothing but open sincerity, then back to Castiel, his gaze flicking over his face. Same stuff there. Then he shrugs. “Cool. Charlie, can you really set something small up in three weeks?”

“If we use this house, sure!”

“Fine with me,” Sam says. “Let’s do it.”

“At least the media won’t be able to sniff out such a short engagement,” Bobby adds. “Guess I’ll hang around a little longer than I intended.”

Sam nods. “You know you can stay as long as you want.”

“I already knew _that_ ,” Bobby grumbles, but still boots up his laptop to help research.

Gabriel brings his coffee over to his laptop. “Time to set up the guest list! Mazel tov, you two. Now quit making moon eyes at each other, and get to work.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

As they frequently find themselves, Castiel and Dean stand in front of each other in their now-completely shared bedroom, staring at one another.

“Tomorrow,” Castiel says warmly.

“‘Bout damn time,” Dean says with bluster, though his stomach flutters in anticipation.

“It’s only been three weeks of waiting,” Castiel chuckles. “And I thought _I_ was impatient.”

“Takes two to tango,” Dean answers with a slightly shaky grin. “So, you ready?”

Castiel holds up the silky rope. “For this? Or for tomorrow?”

Dean shrugs one shoulder and then the other. “Either. Both.”

Castiel takes a step towards him. “Tomorrow I’ve been ready for since I first realized I loved you. Tonight, though...”

Dean’s mouth turns down. “You don’t wanna? We don’t have to.”

“But you want to,” Castiel points out. “You asked.”

“It’d mean a lot to me,” Dean answers truthfully.

“Then we’ll do it.”

“Only if you want to,” Dean tells him again. For the tenth time.

“Perhaps a star harness?” Castiel muses, ignoring the tenth assurance. He wants to. He _always_ wants to.

“A what?”

Castiel uses his fingertip to draw a pentagram over his own chest. “It goes over the shoulders and the top of the chest like so. It looks beautiful, and takes the shape of a pentagram. It’s not particularly restraining on a man’s body, but you’ll feel it, and you’ll have a full range of movement for the ceremony and reception. It will also be completely hidden under your tuxedo.”

Dean smiles. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it because people might notice somehow? Like, dancing and hugging? Sam and Charlie are real huggers, so...”

“They probably wouldn’t notice anything amiss if I used this rope.” He shakes out the shiny light blue length. “It’s thin. If you wear an undershirt, tuxedo shirt, and jacket, it shouldn’t give anything away that we don’t want others discovering.”

Dean grins. He spreads his arms wide. “Well? Let’s practice for the big day, shall we?”

Castiel shuffles closer with a shining expression, leaning forward to kiss Dean deeply.

Then murmuring against Castiel’s lips, Dean says, “shouldn’t we be saving ourselves for our wedding night?”

Castiel shifts his legs just enough that their hips meet flush. “You want to?”

“Nope.”

“Me, either.” Castiel ties the harness around Dean’s sternum, knotting the back quickly, drawing the soft rope over Dean’s shoulder, down to his middle. “Something blue,” he whispers.

Dean’s grin is soft around the edges. “Why do I have to be the bride?”

“My eyes are already blue,” Castiel lilts, tying the line back up over Dean’s opposite shoulder, making a V, and then again over Dean’s neck, the lengths starting to form a star over the center of his chest.

“That doesn’t count,” Dean murmurs, transfixed as always by Castiel’s nimble fingers making knots and looping the rope. Liar didn’t need practice at all. But the longer Castiel works, the more the visible tension drains from his shoulders. The more confident his hands become. It’s not about practice at all, Dean realizes. The man just needs to calm down. So, Dean lets him. Sinks into the feeling of gentle pressure against his chest and back. The silken ropes determining his breaths, his movements. He’ll never stop being amazed at how _controlled_ he feels. How protected. How safe. His muscles turn to jelly under Castiel’s guidance, even though they’re not doing an actual scene right now. The whole situation has simply become natural to the both of them. They’ve reached paradise together.

The only issue he has with this particular binding is that it doesn’t take very long for Castiel to finish it. Sooner than he wants, Castiel is taking a single step back to admire his work. He’s still within arm’s length, and though Dean wants to reach out to him, he keeps still. It must be pure instinct by now, but in this sort of situation, he waits for permission. For anything.

“Beautiful,” Castiel praises, eyes following the lines of the pentagram over Dean’s chest.

“Feels awesome,” Dean says equally softly. “I like this rope.”

Castiel smiles. Reaches out with one hand to trace the open blocks of skin between the ropes. Finger paints the lines of the star across Dean’s chest, up to his collarbone. “I’ve never used this particular rope on anyone before,” he admits.

“Why not? It feels so good.”

Castiel purses his lips with a thoughtful hum. “For one, it’s quite expensive. It’s an uncommon blend for actual bondage play, sexually speaking. It’s really only for show. Bondage artists use it, mostly for things like photographs. It won’t hold your weight for long, the knots loosen easily, and it stretches too much to be secure. But it’s perfect for wearing for the wedding, I think. It won’t chafe or cut off your circulation, but you’ll still be able to feel it enough.”

“I wish I could do something like this for you,” Dean murmurs. “Give you something like this for the wedding.”

Castiel’s fingers drift to the line of Dean’s jaw. “This is what you’ve done for me. The act of tying you; knowing it’s there. Knowing that you _want_ it there... that’s what you’ve given me.” He moves his head so that he fills Dean’s vision. “Trust me, Dean. It’s as good for me as it is for you.”

He only has the space of a blink to see Dean’s pleased grin before they’re kissing again.

Abruptly, Castiel jerks back. “Wait. Please tell me you didn’t mean it when you said that you wanted to wait until our wedding night tomorrow and weren’t only humoring my desire not to.”

He looks so constipated about it that Dean can’t help laughing. “Hell, no. Why would I _ever_ want to wait to have sex with you for such a stupid reason?”

Castiel shoves back in with a huge sigh of relief. And there is nothing hesitant about the hardcore making out that follows thanks to him being fully relaxed now.

Dean shoves Castiel’s hoodie off, grunting in disapproval when he has to break away to rip the t-shirt over his head. But then warm flesh is under his fingers and it’s spectacular.

He’s a big enough man to admit that there’s always been a sliver in the very back recesses of his mind that’s constantly whispered that there’s no such thing as _forever_ with anyone, maybe especially someone as good for him as Castiel. That no matter how good they are, how in love they are, how well they fit together in life and work... it’s only good _for now_ , they’re in love _for now_ , they fit together in life and work _for now_.

After tomorrow, though? They’ll say the only two words to each other that can wipe that _for now_ off the map. Forever.

“Do you want me to ride you?” Castiel asks, thrusting his pelvis firmly against Dean’s to draw his attention.

“I do,” Dean says, enjoying practicing the pattern of the words.

Castiel shoves Dean hard on the chest, crashing him down onto the mattress. He has them both naked almost before Dean can register the change of position. Castiel heaves Dean’s legs up, wrenching his jeans off so fast that he thinks he hears fabric tear. It’s awesome.

It’s also frantic and messy and divine and Dean can’t even catch his breath as Castiel straddles him, lubes up his own hand, and fingers himself open with a look of sheer ecstasy on his face as he throws his head back with a guttural moan. “I’ve been controlling myself all day since I took my shower this morning,” he groans. “I prepped for an hour. I’ve been good, Dean. _So_ good.”

Dean palms at Castiel’s hips with a shudder. Feels like he’s about to lose his damn mind. Feels like _Castiel_ is about to lose his damn mind. But he doesn’t know what to do about it. Castiel is the one with the control all the time. He doesn’t know what to.... “shh,” he hushes. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” He gently presses his fingertips into the dip of Castiel’s spine, swiping up.

Castiel moans again, but it’s quieter. The wild frenzy leaves him when he blinks his eyes open to see Dean’s steady expression. His lips form Dean’s name, but no sound comes out. He gathers the rope lines that go over Dean’s shoulders in a white-knuckled grip, raises up onto his knees. “Please,” he mouths.

Dean doesn’t have to ask for clarification. He takes the lube and slicks up his dick. Grabs the base to keep steady. “Take it, Cas,” he says.

Slowly, entire body strung taut, Castiel lowers himself onto Dean’s hard dick. His internal muscles quiver before they loosen, and he pauses frequently, panting and groaning softly. Dean holds himself as still as he can, only bracing against Castiel’s thighs with his hands. Waiting, overwhelmed with the pleasure of it. The promise and the reward when Castiel is seated completely; filled. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple and Dean watches it with fascination.

“God, I love you,” Dean breathes.

Castiel starts to move. Small rolls of his hips interspersed with rocking thrusts.

Dean really is about to go nuts.

Castiel’s spine hunches, leaning towards Dean, muscles still rock hard with tension. His movements are quick and skilled. Faster once he gets the rhythm down, cock leaking pre-come and bobbing against his belly.

Dean wraps his hand around it, stroking loosely, but it’s enough. It’s a lot. It’s so hot and tight inside Castiel. The sensation pools in his belly, ricocheting down to his toes and up to the top of his scalp. He wants to come so badly he can taste it.

Which shouldn’t be a problem when Castiel is like this. He’s as out of control as Dean. Eyes closed, neck a strong column with his face turned to the ceiling in a look of exquisite prayer. “I need to, Dean,” he gaps. “I’m going to-”

Dean jerks his hips up hard, slamming into Castiel. Once, twice, and the wire of tension snaps. Castiel comes with a gravelly shout, spilling warm into Dean’s hand.

It’s not ten seconds later before Dean is coming too, sobbing moan lost in Castiel’s mouth when he collapses down for a kiss. It makes him tremble. Makes him complete. And tomorrow it’ll be forever.

“You ruined the ropes,” Dean notes hazily.

Castiel had held onto them so hard that the knots had frayed, the rope too stretched at the joins to be useful anymore.

With a huff of exhausted laughter, Castiel answers, “I have more. Don’t worry. You’ll have everything you’ve wanted tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Dean echoes, totally at peace.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

“Something you can always count on in Texas, is a weird heat wave in February,” Sam says cheerfully, unzipping his garment bag. “Weather’s gonna be beautiful today.”

“I told you,” Dean mutters, fighting a real losing battle with his bowtie. “Nothing was gonna go wrong on my wedding day.” He tears at the bad knot again, finally jerking the tie off and throwing it with force at the mirror. “What goddamn witchcraft is needed to tie this fucking thing?!”

Chuckling, Sam steps over, picks the tie up off the ground and swats his brother’s hands away. “Let me,” he says, getting to work.

Dean lifts his chin to give his brother room, glaring upwards towards the ceiling trim. “Did you sell your soul for this talent?”

“No,” Sam grins. “But after, like, a million red carpet events, you sorta learn the basics.” He steps back triumphantly. “Done!”

“I hate you so much right now,” Dean mumbles, still thankful as he gives himself a once-over in the mirror.

“I know you do,” Sam answers, undeterred by anyone’s bad mood today. He slaps his brother on the shoulder as he goes back to his side of the room to dress. “You’ll hate me even more when your wedding photos are perfect.”

“Won’t happen with all that hippie hair you got,” Dean returns, finally starting to smile for real. Satisfied he looks the part of a groom, he turns. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “S’what I’m here for.” He shakes out his dress shirt and then pauses before putting it on to look at his brother fully. “I want you to be happy. I’d do anything to make that happen. You know that, right?”

“How could I miss it?” Dean says. “Dude, you paid for this wedding, made sure it was all taken care of, yelled at anyone who tried to screw up the schedule. You’ve, uh... you’ve been awesome the past few weeks. So... thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam says simply.

It’s these moments that Dean’s glad that sometimes Sam is sometimes as allergic to feelings talks as he is. There’s enough emotion already on the horizon for today. Plenty more to come. It’s going to spill over eventually. Dean would rather it be at the altar where everyone in attendance is prohibited from making fun of him for it. Rather, where it’s expected. He can do this. He sucks in a breath.

“Nervous?”

Dean rolls his shoulders, popping his neck from side to side. “Dunno why.”

“Biggest day of your life,” Sam says reasonably.

“I’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

Sam puts both of his hands on Dean’s shoulders and gives him a pointed look. “No,” he says firmly. “You don’t.” They both nod together, and then Sam retreats to put his clothes on. He’s much better at putting on a monkey suit than Dean is.

All the while, Dean tries to focus on his brother since it distracts him from his nerves, but he’s barely got any time before Bobby is knocking on the bedroom door. “‘Bout time to get a move on.”

Dean gives himself once last glance in the mirror. Runs a quick hand through his hair. Castiel likes him slightly tousled. It’s as good as it’s gonna get, anyway. “Let’s do this,” he says.

The rest of his life awaits him out in the spacious backyard. There’s no desire in him to keep it waiting. Not for anything.

Charlie has gone above and beyond the call of duty for the ceremony. Everyone has. White folding chairs are arranged in neat rows in front of a simple lattice archway woven with blue hydrangeas and white roses. At the corner of the full acre yard, closest to the house, several tents have been erected with hanging paper lanterns inside for light. It’s warm enough at high noon that no one will be uncomfortable, but it’ll cool off during the reception, so each of the tents has flaps to fold down if the party drags on after dark.

The small gathering of their friends and family are already seated and chatting while Missouri Moseley waits at the archway in a lovely white dress.

Dean’s heart swells at the sight. He can’t take his eyes off of it through the glass doors until a warm hand slips into his. He turns his head to find Castiel with a soft look on his face, eyes brimming with... everything. Dean gives his fingers a squeeze.

Bobby pushes open the door and goes out into the yard to take his seat. Everyone turns in their chairs to watch.

“It’s go time,” Charlie says softly, straightening the lapels of her fitted suit. She gives both Dean and Castiel a kiss on the cheek before standing beside Sam. Sam crooks his arm, and Charlie takes it. They begin to walk slowly over the literal red carpet laid on top the grass down the center of the yard while a small string quartet measures their pace with Bach.

Behind them, Castiel and Dean follow, eyes trained forward on their goal, fingers clinging. The walk seems to take forever. But then it doesn’t and they’re standing at the center of the archway, surrounded by a fragrant breeze, and Missouri begins to speak.

“Life is a funny thing,” she starts. “It’s long and short at the same time. Happy and sad. Full and empty in parts. It’s a contradiction. A race. A challenge. And no matter what, no one can do it alone. Sometimes it feels like there are few blessings in it, and no thanks at all. But then it happens. We stumble upon that special person who adds that one last spice our recipe has been lacking. They fill the gaps and put the rest of the pieces together.”

In his peripheral vision, Dean sees Castiel thumb the corner of his eye.

Missouri smiles. “Some people think that they won’t be whole until they find that person, but that ain’t true. All of us are whole. Just unseasoned. One hundred percent isn’t enough for us humans, is it? We need another, because we’re greedy, giving souls. Castiel and Dean have found that in their craving to make their lives the best that they can possibly be. And now they can tell God and country how serious they are about it, can’t you boys?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“Yeah,” Dean echoes, still feeling overwhelmed.

“Go ahead then,” she nods.

Castiel tugs Dean’s hand until they’re facing each other. He doesn’t let go. He never lets go. “Dean.” The name crackles. He clears his throat. “Dean,” he repeats. “I don’t think that I can tell you how much I love you. Or, I suppose I _can_ tell you, but I can’t explain it. It’s impossible to quantify.” He uses his free hand to scratch at his nose in an embarrassed gesture that Dean’s never seen on him before.

He laughs a little before continuing. “I remember the first day that I met you. Sam had spoken of you for years, and I guess... in my head, you’d become larger than life. Profiler. Detective. FBI trained. I was... intimidated.” He shakes his head and Dean smirks. “And then I got to know you, and I hated you.”

Dean laughs with everyone else. “Dude,” he whispers.

Castiel shrugs. “You and I were oil and water at work, and we never got to know one another outside of that. So, I never knew the real you. I thought you were simply an impulsive alpha male guard dog for your brother. Then...”

He looks down at their joined hands, stroking his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “Then I started to get these glimpses of _you_. I could hear you on our radio talking to Sam, or humming Led Zeppelin, or talking to whatever crew we were working with. You had this... softness to you. I couldn’t have imagined...” He shakes his head. “You weren’t that impulsive bastard at all. You just...” Blue eyes raise to meet sparkling green. “You lived life with every bit of energy within you. And when I saw that vibrancy for what it was, the only thing I could do was fall in love with you. Now? Dean, I can’t let you go for anything. I love you more every single day. I need your energy. I want you by my side forever. I can’t wait to start the rest of our lives together. I promise you all of it, all right? The traditional and the non-traditional. In sickness and in health; for richer or for poorer, in good times and bad, always.”

He squeezes Dean’s hand again, and Dean takes the cue. His mind is pretty blank, but somehow, he’s confident that he can find the words for once in his life. “Cas, I... man, you’re a hard act to follow, you know that?”

There’s another ripple of laughter, and it’s Castiel’s turn to look smugly satisfied.

“I mean, what I kinda wanna do is just say, ‘yeah, same,’ because most of that stuff you said is true, but you deserve more than that. I ain’t lazy like that. Plus, there aren’t a lot of times I’m exactly comfortable letting it all hang out, so now or never, right?”

“I love you,” Castiel answers for his ears only.

“I remember meeting you too,” he smiles. “You shook my hand and acted so formal, I was like, ‘wait, _this_ is Castiel? The guy Sam goes on and on about? His best friend?’ I couldn’t believe it. You were so... _opposite_ of everyone Sam and I’ve ever known. I wanted to figure you out; to see what Sam saw. And, man, I was so full of myself. I was a good profiler and cop. But I couldn’t get a read on you. I never did. Not once. Drove me crazy.”

He shifts his weight, feeling the silk ropes move against his skin under his tuxedo in as gentle of a caress as Castiel’s fingers stroking his hand.

“Then we had that talk, and you made me admit what I’d been afraid of the whole time: it wasn’t that I couldn’t read you. It’s that I didn’t want to. Because I was attracted to you, and that didn’t read as a good thing. I didn’t wanna be attracted to some uptight former Marine who took issue with everything I did. But I was. And I hated it until I faced it.”

His palms are starting to sweat as Castiel bites his bottom lip and sucks in a loud breath.

“You made me brave, Cas. You made me face you, and you made me face myself. You made me realize what I was _actually_ capable of. Sure, we had some bumps in the road, but you made it all worthwhile. The best thing about you? You don’t force it. You never tried to change me. You accepted who I was, and what I could give, and you waited for me to come around to you. And when I did... dude, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you. So much. The rest of our lives together? It’s gonna be awesome.”

There’s a pause, and then Missouri says, “the rings?”

Charlie and Sam step over and hold out the thick, etched platinum bands. _Winchester-Novak_ , Dean’s says in sprawling script. _Novak-Winchester_ , Castiel’s says. They pass the rings to Missouri, who holds them up in her palm for everyone to see.

She says, “these rings symbolize your love, commitment, devotion, and responsibility to each other. Castiel. With this ring, do you promise to love, honor, and respect Dean until death parts you?”

“I do,” Castiel says tremulously. With shaking fingers, he takes the ring and slips it over Dean’s knuckle. “Dean, I do.”

Dean ignores the small tear that slips from his eye.

Then Missouri says, “Dean. With this ring, do you promise to love, honor, and respect Castiel until death parts you?”

“I do,” Dean answers, also quite wobbly. He nearly fumbles the ring, but manages to get it safely on Castiel’s finger where it will stay forever. _Holy shit_.

Finally, Missouri announces, “ladies and gentlemen gathered here, you stand witness to a union of body and soul. Of Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester. Do you promise to love, support, and advise them in all ways of their commitment and marriage? Please say, ‘we do.’”

“We do,” the small crowd echoes.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

“Well, now, that means you’re married,” Missouri finishes. “By the authority given to me by the State of Texas and the Powers That Be, I pronounce you married husbands. Y’all can kiss now.”

Dean and Castiel move together and their lips meet for the first time as a married couple to the raucous cheers of their family. As promised, it’s awesome.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** The wedding reception carries on. Dean and Castiel exchange gifts.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Have some smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter tags:**  
>  bondage  
> blowjobs  
> suspension play  
> orgasm delay  
> paddling  
> Top!Castiel  
> Bottom!Dean

As expected, the reception carries on for half the night, despite having begun at one in the afternoon. Sam really had gone all out. The bar is open, and free, the food seems never ending, and the band plays on as long as there are people to dance, alternating with a DJ.

The pictures take a godforsaken _eternity_ , most surprisingly because of Bobby, who insists on about a thousand poses of his boys, since “it ain’t like you send me updated photos ever, ya ungrateful idjits. And I ain’t clipping magazine pages like a dumbass.”

But then they’re _finally_ able to join the rest of the party in the tent. A small table has been set up for the grooms near the bar, and some blessed caterer has left a sampling of the food for them already. Dean beelines for it, everyone else having to do without his company for a little while.

“Don’t eat too much,” Castiel says happily, digging into the fancy arugula salad that Dean rejects. “We still have to dance.”

“Damn right we do,” Dean answers with his mouth full; no manners even on his wedding day. “And I’ve been practicing.”

That gives Castiel pause, fork halfway to his mouth. “Have you?”

“You have no idea, man.” He wipes his hands off vigorously. “Which reminds me. Be right back.”

Castiel watches warily as Dean approaches the DJ stand. The guy leans forward and Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him close to talk in confidence close to his ear. He says something that makes the man’s eyes pop wide, and then he bursts into laughter. Also grinning, Dean pulls back, giving him two questioning thumbs up. The DJ gives him a confirmation thumbs up in response, and Dean swaggers back to the table, plopping down and resuming his meal.

“What was that all about?” Castiel queries with false levity.

“Nothing,” Dean answer with equally false sincerity. “Just something I wanted to make sure he had on the playlist.”

It’s horribly ominous and Charlie gets about a dozen candid shots with her cell phone of Castiel leveling Dean with his most suspicious squint. It’s such a common look, it’s actually a little surprising it hasn’t been captured on film before today. It probably looks funnier in tuxedos, anyway. Charlie won’t show either Castiel or Dean the pictures, but she starts typing on her phone really quickly and snort laughing as she traipses away.

And after that, there’s no way for Castiel to inquire further, because bellies filled, and drinks flowing freely, the well-wishers start to descend on the newlyweds in small, yet constant groups to give them their congratulations and have a few minutes alone with the couple before the night brings more chaos and less chance to talk.

Sooner than Castiel likes, considering Dean’s strange behavior, the DJ is turning on the mic to announce the first dance for the grooms. Dean climbs out of his chair and holds out his hand to Castiel with a glowing grin.

_Suspicious_. But Castiel gets to his feet like he should, and takes his husband’s hand. Dean leads them to the corner of the dance floor and tells Castiel to wait while he goes to speak with the DJ once more.

And then.

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard it actually gives him a slight headache, whole body moving with the gesture. “Really?”

Laughing and nodding, Dean shimmies himself onto the middle of the floor while their friends and family stand rowdy witness to the embarrassment. “Come on, Cas!” Dean calls over. “First dance! You gotta!”

“We did not agree to REO Speedwagon!” Castiel calls back, but Dean is ignoring him. “We agreed to Frank Sinatra!”

“ _I can’t fight this feeling any longer! And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow!_ “ Dean sings, hand over his heart.

“You are not!” Castiel protests. However, his smile grows with the laughter of the crowd around them. How could he not have seen something like this coming? “Can’t Fight This Feeling” is so very Dean. So very fitting. So very... a feral grin curls Castiel’s lips... _bratty_.

Castiel rushes onto the dance floor and sweeps Dean into a graceful dip that has his new husband clutching at his shoulders with a startled laugh. Literally and figuratively sweeping him off his feet.

“How the hell?” Dean demands, flushed and beaming.

“Ballroom dancing was a hobby in the Marines,” Castiel says casually. “Overseas we had officer’s balls regularly to aid in international relations. I wanted to be able to put my literal and figurative best foot forward for them.”

“You did this in _dress uniform_?” Dean cries. “Tell me there are pictures, Cas!”

Castiel swings Dean into a lovely turn, guiding him effortlessly, then yanks him close until they’re flush. Directly into his ear, Castiel growls, “I’ll think about showing you after your punishment.” He expects shock and awe, but what he actually gets is a shit-eating grin.

“Man, you are gonna love my wedding gift to you.” Then distraction again as he yell-sings, “ _‘cause I can’t fight this feeling anymooooooooore!_ ”

They’re laughing so hard they can barely keep each other on their feet and Castiel thinks, _Frank Sinatra is too cliché for us, anyway_.

One last turn around the floor, and the song is ending. Everyone is cheering. Dean gets an impressive dip on Castiel this time, and kisses him deeply for their closest family to see.

After that, the floor fills with half-drunk and well fed revelers. The party goes on and on. The sun crawls past its zenith. There are always people dancing. And no one blames the grooms for slipping away into the sunset outside of the tents. Charlie, Sam, and Gabriel all promise to keep it going as long as the DJ and band want to play.

Dean and Castiel stumble through the yard, pausing frequently to kiss each other like excited teenagers. They’re almost to the back door when Castiel reaches up to stroke Dean’s face and it doesn’t look the same as it always had before. This time, there’s a flash of shining metal caught in the light from the kitchen.

“We’re married,” he says with a nearly-disbelieving smile.

Dean reaches up with his left hand too, watching the way the ring looks on his finger when he’s touching his husband. “We’re married,” he confirms.

“My husband,” Castiel murmurs, touching Dean’s bottom lip. The old word sounds really, really new tonight.

“I’m so fucking happy,” Dean answers. There’s another soft kiss. And then another. And then Dean asks, “time for wedding gifts?”

“Who’s first?” Castiel chuckles.

“You,” Dean answers immediately. “Mine’ll take some explaining.”

With a smile and a nod, Castiel takes them inside and up to their bedroom.

On the way up, Dean does as expected and begins to shed the more annoying accoutrements of his tuxedo. The bowtie ends up somewhere over the banister, his cummerbund on the stairs for Sam to trip on later, shoes kicked off somewhere in the hallway, but at least the expensive cufflinks end up on the dresser in the bedroom. Wisely, Dean doesn’t remove any of the important parts of his wedding suit since Castiel would feel cheated. And as a small reward, Castiel slips Dean’s suit jacket off, then carefully rolls up the sleeves on his dress shirt.

“You look delicious,” he says. “Should have dressed down for some pictures. I’m sure I’ll regret _that_ for the rest of our lives.”

Laughing, Dean leans in for a kiss. And in his endlessly sexy Texas drawl says, “how about I strike out the no phones during sex clause for a little while tonight and you can take all the shots you want?”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “You’re in rare form, aren’t you?” All the same, he slides his cell phone out of the inner breast pocket. “You’d really let me? I mean, I realize it’s a special night for us, but still.” He squints. “I never thought you’d bend on this.”

Dean steps in close. “Only today. Some rules can be paused for today.”

Castiel makes a pleased hum in his throat. “Don’t distract me yet. We need to exchange gifts, and I’m really excited to give you yours.”

Dean kisses him anyway. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Immediately, Castiel goes to his night stand and opens the bottom drawer to retrieve a beautifully hand carved cedar box about the size of a jewelry box. He holds it out to Dean and they both sit down on the edge of the bed. Dean takes his time studying the craftsmanship of the woodworking. Delicate swirls and vines snake over it, to the center of the lid where his name is carved in a bold western font.

“Open it,” Castiel encourages.

Dean opens the lid. “Holy _shit_ ,” he gasps, not even wanting to touch the thing, it’s so beautiful and pristine. “This is... _wow_ , Cas. Holy shit. This. What. _Wow_.”

Woefully unprepared for Dean’s incredible reaction, Castiel hides his embarrassment by rambling, “it’s a Colt. I realize when you and Sam go to the shooting range, you tend to favor the Taurus 99, but I’ve always pictured you as more of a Colt man. Like a cowboy. You know. Since you’re so enamored with them.”

Dean has finally removed the handgun from the cedar box, stroking it gingerly and testing the weight. He grins at Castiel’s acknowledgement of his cowboy fetish.

Castiel holds his hand out and Dean passes it over. “This is the M1911. Two and a half pounds loaded, seven round, single stacked.” He pops the empty magazine out to show Dean. “It’s one of the most reliable .45’s there is, with a good kick for you.” He strokes the engravings thoughtfully before passing it back. “Personally, I find it to be quite the elegant weapon, despite how common it is. Especially the plated ones like this. Gorgeous and deadly, just like you.”

Dean quirks a smile. “Military issue, as well, from what I remember. Was this one yours?”

Surprised that Dean knows much in the way of firearms history, since he’s more of a practical man, Castiel answers, “no. This particular model was retired before I entered the Marines. My whole family’s had one as a service weapon, but I had this one refurbished just for you. I felt it suited you better. My father gifted it to me when I enlisted, but it didn’t have any of the embellishments until I decided to give it to you.”

“In looks alone, this puts my Taurus to shame,” Dean says. He studies the fine, professional swirled etchings and the pearl handle. It’s a beautiful gun. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t itching to see what it would look like in his hip holster like a _real_ cowboy. He looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “But this is a family heirloom, right? I can’t take it away from you.”

Castiel’s smile is tender. “Did you already forget that we got married? You _are_ a part of my family. This particular heirloom is yours now. It has much more value to me in your hands, than locked in my gun safe.”

“Can I use it, or is it just for display?”

“We’ll go out to the range tomorrow, if you want.”

Dean shoves forward for a kiss. “Can’t wait.”

“When’s it time for my present?” Castiel grins.

Dean carefully puts the gun back in the cedar case and sets it aside. Then he stands and holds both hands out. “Right now. Come on.”

Castiel allows himself to be pulled to his feet and guided into the exercise room. He blinks, peering around curiously. “In here?”

Dean moves to the hallway door and locks it. “In here.”

He glances around. “Forgive me, but I don’t see anything different.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest smugly. Lifts one finger. Castiel follows the direction up to the ceiling. He blinks again. Dean revels in the slow realization as Castiel’s eyes widen and his whole body startles. “You...” he starts, voice incredibly rough. “Dean, you _didn’t_.”

“I sure as shit did,” Dean answers. “Best part is, Sam’ll never know what they’re for. Even the contractor who installed them said it was good to put in hooks for the punching bag since the stand we have could overbalance it. Thankfully, he didn’t ask about the ones in the wall.”

Castiel can’t stop looking at them. Dean’s gift to him. “You want to use these with me?” he asks faintly. It’s almost unbelievable. The most selfless gift anyone has ever given him. Dean’s giving him more submission. More trust. More expansion on their widening list of kinks. _Ceiling hooks_. Some towards the center of the room, and some closer to the padded back wall. They’re unobtrusive, and appear incredibly strong. Easy to string with ropes and straps. He’s always wanted to share this with Dean, but it’s a huge step. “Are you sure?”

“Cas,” Dean says in that mildly chiding tone that draws his attention back immediately. “I want to try. Step it up some. If you want.”

That strange mix of shyness and bravery curls Castiel’s mouth into a sly grin. He straightens his shoulders, blue eyes hardening with intent. “What I _want_ , is to administer the promised punishment for your assault to my ears with REO Speedwagon.”

Dean does a poor job of suppressing a small shudder. “That’d be pretty awesome.”

Slowly, deliberately, button by button, Castiel begins to undo Dean’s tuxedo shirt. “What do I have permission for?” he asks in his smooth, dominating baritone.

“Anything,” Dean breathes.

Castiel pinches Dean’s nipple hard through the fabric, making his sub cry out. “Now Dean, we’ve talked about proper consent. You must tell me exactly what you’re willing to try.”

Dean sways closer, but Castiel stays just out of reach. “Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll set the limit?”

Castiel’s smile turns heated. “Compromise is important. But, oh, Dean, you need to understand how deep I want to take you. It might scare you how much I want to do.” He strokes Dean’s smooth cheek, shaved as closely as possible for the wedding.

“You don’t scare me at all,” Dean whispers, breath warm on Castiel’s lips. “Maybe you don’t get how much I want _from_ you. I think about it all the time. Fuck, Cas, ever since you said you were gonna punish me for changing the wedding song, all I could think about was you spanking me within an inch of my life. Chain me up to that wall and fuck me until I can’t walk straight for a week.”

“I would be amenable to that,” Castiel says in a rush before kissing Dean hard and bruising.

“Make me feel it,” Dean begs, breath heaving.

“Knees,” Castiel commands, voice steely. “Now, boy.”

Dean drops down so fast a shock of pain shoots through his knees when he hits the floor.

“So eager,” Castiel purrs. “I love that about you. Now, stay there.” He can feel Dean’s gaze as he saunters casually to the massage table and drags it over. It’s the perfect height for him to stand on and loop the nylon ropes through the ceiling hooks. And it can be adjusted... for later.

Dean watches unwavering as Castiel removes his jacket, shoes, and socks. Tosses them out of the way. Normally he’s more mindful, but this wedding gift has him far too eager.

He’s on the table stringing up a fine pulley system with leather cuffs in little time. Testing the system, he jumps off the table and yanks. The ropes loosen until they’re low enough and another yank locks the teeth. “Perfect,” he smiles.

Then he turns his brilliant blue eyes down to Dean and undoes the button on his tuxedo pants. “Get me ready. Use your mouth.”

All too quickly, Dean complies. But when he reaches forward, Castiel slaps his hands away. Dean makes a small noise of protest.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to use your hands. I see you need some control. Show me your wrists.”

Dean does so.

Castiel wraps them with the padded leather cuffs, securing them with metal buckles. He threads the nylon through the hooks, tying them off with a sturdy knot, and then beings to pull the rope. Dean’s wrists come together and then slowly start to raise up over his head. “I will say this about western bondage. What it lacks in elegance, it makes up for in efficiency.”

“Kinda like you,” Dean snarks.

He thinks he sounds cocky enough, but Castiel reads the bravado correctly. “I won’t retaliate because I know this bluster is your nerves. You don’t have to agree to this.”

“I’m fucking ‘blustery’ because I want it so bad I’m about to lose my damn mind,” Dean grits through chattering teeth. The adrenaline high is making everything shake.

Castiel wraps the nylon twice around his hand. “Color?” he asks as permission to start the scene.

Dean shuffles forward on his knees until he’s a breath away from Castiel’s legs. “Green.” He takes the zipper on Castiel’s tuxedo pants in his teeth, dragging it down slowly. He noses aside the fabric, and finds that his husband decided to go commando on their wedding day. What a gentleman. Makes all the prep that Dean did for their evening worthwhile.

Castiel’s dick twitches a little, but it’s still mostly soft. Dean’s got work to do. Not that he minds. Being able to watch his husband get hard for him is a true blessing. Probably the thing he likes the most in the world. Dean presses a series of small kisses along the shaft, feeling it begin to harden against his lips.

He glances up to see Castiel looking down on him with his impassive expression, eyebrow raised, but to Dean, it’s blissful to see. He tilts his chin to suckle the head of Castiel’s cock, tonguing into the slit, pushing the foreskin back with his lips to expose the glans.

A small hitched breath escapes Castiel, his free hand digging into hair on the crown of Dean’s head.

Dean moans, sinking Castiel’s full length into his mouth, and Castiel’s dick twitches again, fully hard. “Pull off,” Castiel commands, only slightly breathless. “Stand up.”

With one last hard suck, Dean draws back. He gets to his feet, wincing when he suddenly notices that his legs have fallen asleep, shooting pins and needles. But Castiel is pulling the rope again, raising Dean’s arms higher over his head until he’s at the limit of his flexibility.

“Kneel on the table. It’s time for your punishment.”

Obediently, Dean scrambles up onto the padded table with Castiel’s help and relaxes back against his heels.

“Don’t get comfortable. Tell me if the stretch is too much. Don’t fight against the pull.” Castiel begins tugging on the nylon again to take up the slack Dean had gained from the height change. His shoulders stretch and Castiel keeps pulling. Dean raises up as high as he can, weight now on his shins. It’s the most he can do without standing, but the burn in his muscles is wonderful and grounding.

And Castiel, always sensitive to the limits, stops tightening the ropes, tying the end off on the table’s leg with a strong, but quick release knot.

Dean with his shirt unbuttoned, face flushed, hair disheveled, blue silk rope from the pentagram harness pushing into his skin, muscles taut and straining, Castiel can’t help but give in to the cell phone suggestion. He whips his out and holds it up asking silent permission.

When Dean tilts his chin in assent, Castiel takes a burst shot with a happy sigh. “Gorgeous as always. Now, wait here and be good for me. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t linger for Dean’s answer, merely saunters out of the room and down the hall to the bedroom. They haven’t used a huge array of toys yet, especially for punishment, but recently they’d talked about pain play in more detail. Dean’s eyes had actually lit up at the prospect of “tools” for his punishments, underscoring the shy, nervous smile that had touched his lips.

It seems fitting that the first time using anything truly adventurous would be on their wedding night. He takes the lube from the nightstand, and from the closet Castiel removes a leather paddle. It’s slightly soft and has holes more so to increase the sound of it than anything else. Castiel strokes his palm over it as he carries it back to the exercise room where Dean obviously hasn’t moved a muscle, not even to shift his weight, eyes trained unblinkingly at the door for the moment of his Dom’s return. Then they’re drawn directly to the black paddle. Glued to it as Castiel spins it in his hand.

“This one will make quite a bit of noise,” he says conversationally.

Dean’s next breath is deep enough to strain the silk ropes of the harness, digging into his skin.

“Since this is your first time with such a tool, we’ll take some pity on you,” he says dispassionately. “How does three hits for every minute of that song you made me listen to sound? Speak.”

“Fifteen,” Dean answers hoarsely. “I can do that.”

Castiel reaches up and strokes Dean’s face, massaging into his jaw to help release the tension. “I will only do what we agreed: only on your ass, and never hard enough to draw blood or cause deep bruising.” His fingers dance down to Dean’s chin. He grabs it hard. “You will count out loud. You will say nothing else. You will not move out of your position. Do you understand? Speak ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“Yes,” Dean says.

Castiel’s expression softens to indulgent control. He passes the paddle between Dean’s legs, pressing lightly against his semi-hard dick. “If you come before I’m ready for you to, you will regret it.”

Dean’s strong thighs shake with the urge to squirm, though he just barely resists.

Castiel nods and makes his way around the table. In a swift movement, he yanks the back of Dean’s trousers down with his boxer briefs, exposing only his round ass. “Good God, you’re beautiful,” Castiel murmurs. “But perhaps you’ll be even lovelier with a blush of red.”

The first smack of the paddle is sharp, loud, and surprises Dean to yelp, “one!” The metal buckles rattle against Dean’s wrists as the second and third hits fall in quick succession, first soft, and then hard. Castiel pauses just long enough to let Dean wiggle his knees back into position, unprepared as he was for the exact force.

Then the paddle whistles through the air and when Dean yells, “four!” it sounds almost like he’s having an orgasm.

There’s no pattern. No rhythm. No definitive amount of strength that Castiel uses. The randomness makes Dean gasp and strain as hard as he can against his bindings. The sounds he make keep Castiel as hard as a rock, as does the incredible shade of pink Dean’s ass is turning.

Castiel reaches out to knead both cheeks roughly and Dean keens quietly, head jerking up towards the ceiling.

Then it’s back to business. “Nine!” takes a split second longer to come out than the others. “ _Ten_!” breaks on a gorgeous sob as the pain begins to settle.

“You’re almost there,” Castiel murmurs, stepping back over to the front of the table because he can’t bear to continue without seeing Dean’s face. “Oh, my love,” he breathes.

Dean drops his chin down, tears streaking his face, flush high in his cheeks. His lips are swollen from biting and they part, but at the last second he seems to catch himself, saying nothing. His cock twitches hard and he moans, pre-come leaking profusely from the tip that’s popped free of open his trousers.

“You can speak for a moment,” Castiel relents, feeling generous on their wedding night. “May I take a picture?”

“You can take enough to fill your goddamn memory card,” Dean says, sounding parched.

Castiel takes a dozen from every angle. By the time he’s done, Dean appears to have calmed down some. His wrists have gone limp against the cuffs, body slumped as much as the rope allows. “Can you finish?” Castiel asks.

“Yes,” Dean confirms. “Make ‘em count. I can do it. I wanna do it for you, Cas.”

“Very well,” he says primly, walking with pointed military precision. “You’re doing excellent, Dean. I’ve never been so pleased with a sub in my life, and I’m not saying that just because we’re married now.”

The paddle sails through the air and Dean’s voice is firmer when he yells, “eleven!”

Twelve, thirteen, and fourteen fall almost before Dean’s finished counting the previous number.

The final blow, fifteen, rings the hardest and falls dead center. Dean cries out the number in sheer ecstasy. 

Castiel drops the paddle the floor and falls forward to taste the heat radiating off of Dean’s ass. Leaves small nips interspersed with tender brushes of his lips. “Did you prep?” he asks, tounging his way up to the dip of Dean’s spine.

Shuddering, Dean says, “yeah. Took extra care. Just for you.”

Castiel removes the lube from his pocket and slicks his fingers. Then he drips a generous amount along Dean’s hole. He circles the tight pucker, pressing in with the tip of his finger. Dean’s body swallows it easily.

“All for me?” Castiel asks with a chiding grin. “You’re loose. Tell me Dean, did you masturbate this morning?” He punctuates the question by driving in deeply, brushing the prostate.

Dean’s hips jut back with his moan. “I did-didn’t come, Cas, I swear!”

Castiel hums consideringly as he chases a bead of sweat rolling down Dean’s spine with his tongue, while his fingers work quickly to finger Dean open. He’s not exactly displeased that Dean had helped make his job easier. Frankly, he’s so hard it hurts, and he wants to be inside his husband more than he wants air to breathe.

It doesn’t take long. And Dean is beginning to writhe against his bindings. “Cas! Babe, you gotta... _fuck_ , I’m too close!”

Abruptly, Castiel pulls back completely.

Dean makes a sigh of deliverance. He swears darkly under his breath, gulping in deep breaths to steady himself.

Castiel uses the time to move away and grab the knot he’d tied on the table, releasing the tension. Dean’s arms thump down suddenly to the table, tingling and totally dead. “Relax,” Castiel says when Dean grits his teeth. He removes the cuffs only long enough to divest Dean of his shirt completely and then gently, he takes Dean’s right arm, massaging from shoulder to palm, returning the circulation. Once Dean’s taut muscles begin to loosen, he moves to the left arm. “How are you?”

“Calming down,” Dean says in a wobbling voice. “Getting there.” Then in a petulant mutter, gripes, “didn’t want you to untie me yet.”

“We’re not done,” Castiel assures him. “Get down here.”

Dean slides off the table, feet firm on the floor, legs spread. Anticipating Castiel’s needs before he even asks. This man is perfection. Castiel will always believe that. Even more when he holds his hands out eagerly to be bound in leather again.

Once again, Castiel crosses behind the table and takes up the slack in the ropes, yanking hard until Dean pitches forward, chest slamming against the padded table, arms wide to either side. With quick, practiced movements, Castiel secures the knots on either leg of the table and reaches to Dean’s back where he’s left the release knot for the chest harness. It comes apart, and he slowly begins to unwind the silk. It slides easily against Dean’s skin, and he watches with fascination as goosebumps erupt over Dean’s back and shimmer down his arms

“Comfortable?” he asks once the silk is completely removed.

“No,” Dean says like he’s winded. He turns his cheek against the table, though he can’t see Castiel from that angle. “Fuck, I need you to-to... I need... need you in me, Cas.”

Castiel plants a small kiss on the man’s warm cheek. “My polite boy says ‘please.’“

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “ _Fucking, please_.”

Castiel sinks into Dean’s waiting heat with the patience of a saint he most certainly isn’t. _Make me feel it_ , Dean had said, so Castiel does just that. Bottoms out and swipes his hands across Dean’s shoulder blades, down his arms, wider and wider until their hands meet in a semblance of flight. He covers the leather and buckles and skin with his hands, and only then, does he begin to move. Pressed inch to inch against his husband, only his hips working them towards completion in languid thrusts. He makes no sound. Dean sniffles once to clear the fresh tears, then is silent, too. Mouth curved into an “O” of pleasure, eyes open but unseeing. Glazed with lust and the vision of wherever he goes when Castiel guides him high about reality.

When Dean comes apart, it’s with a puff of air through his mouth and the tiniest moan. His body trembles like it can’t quite reach the peak even though his come splatters against the floor. His body tenses tighter and tighter, inner muscles shivering and then clenching hard to pull Castiel to his own overwhelming orgasm. He’s not sure he’s capable of making a single sound, either. All he knows is that he doesn’t begin the tumble downhill until Dean feels Castiel pulse inside him and his whole body goes limp.

Dean remembers nothing about being bridal carried to the bedroom and cleaned off. When he blinks laboriously back to the world, he’s in bed, dressed in his most worn sweats and henley, cradled against Castiel’s chest.

“You’re back,” Castiel says warmly, pressing a bottle of orange juice against Dean’s cheek to stir him further.

Instead of answering, Dean turns his body until he’s practically sitting in Castiel’s lap, face squashed against his husband’s neck.

Castiel chuckles, rubbing Dean’s back soothingly. “What do you need?”

“You to keep holding on,” Dean murmurs. “You gotta say you will.”

“I will,” Castiel promises immediately, holding Dean impossibly closer. “‘Til death do us part.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lovely wedding, it's back to business. Sam prepares for his convention tours. Castiel and Dean get a lead on Lucifer, and Bobby is envious of Castiel's gun collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this very much because I'm off to SPN Las Vegas tomorrow, so I wanted to make sure y'all got a chapter before I left since I probably won't be writing much while I'm out there!

There’s no rest for the weary, and no honeymoon for the lovebirds. And in some cruel twist of fate, Castiel is awake well before Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed with two steaming cups of coffee when his husband wakes up.

“What’s going on?” he asks, more hoarse than usual after their long night. “What did I miss? Are you Castiel? What’s happening?”

Rolling his eyes for the second time at his husband in less than twenty-four hours, Castiel hands over a mug. “It was important that I wake up first today.”

Dean grimaces and crawls up to his elbows. “What the hell for?”

“How are you feeling?”

Dean blinks groggily, trying to figure out why there was a question to answer a question, but Castiel is looking at him with sincerity, so he figures it’s best to give it a thought. He wiggles to an upright position, hissing a little at some burning in strange places. “Sore all over, like you fucking forced me to workout with you.”

“Also apparently in a bad mood?”

Dean scowls at the accusation, grabs the coffee and takes a long, steady drink. “I’m fine, Mom. All grown up and everything.”

Unperturbed, Castiel lounges back on the bed next to Dean, taking no offense when he unconsciously leans away a little. “Hormone crash,” Castiel says plainly, knowing Dean appreciates the fewest words possible when he’s in this kind of mood. “It’s drop. I did, too, a little. I woke up shortly before dawn feeling it.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. “I didn’t mean to...” He’s not sure where the thought is trying to get to.

Castiel shakes his head. “Significant, prolonged highs inevitably cause significant lows. Please tell me what I can do for you, Dean. Even outside of a scene, I have the responsibility as your Dom to makes sure you receive the proper aftercare.” He glances over and risks a smile. “And as your spouse, I consider it both an obligation and an indulgence.”

Dean doesn’t return his smile, but he does rid himself of his coffee cup and collapses sideways against Castiel with a whining grunt. “Fucking hate drop on the first morning as a married couple. Fucking hate making you wake up first because you’re worried about me.”

With the silent permission to touch, Castiel sifts his hands through Dean’s sleep-matted hair. Strokes over his shoulders. “It’s a privilege to care for you any time. And I’ve been awake for hours all by myself, anyway.”

Dean whines again. Starts to shimmy around. Shuffle. Jostle them both. Suddenly Castiel realizes that Dean’s trying to get out of his clothes while trying not to move away too far. It’s adorable and childish. Castiel helps him and it takes longer than it should, but there’s no schedule to keep today.

Once fully naked, Dean squashes himself against Castiel again, muttering, “you, too. Need skin.” His fingers grapple blindly for Castiel’s shirt, pushing up and semi-accidentally tickling him until his abs clench and he’s laughing lightly.

“Impatient,” Castiel admonishes mildly, slipping out of his clothes as best as he can with Dean glued to him so firmly. But Dean’s huge sigh of contentment when they’re resettled and warm is worth it. He’s learned that Dean can’t allow himself to be pampered unless he acts grumpy about it, so Castiel listens to the muttering and small curses while he rolls Dean onto his stomach and systematically begins to massage the kinks and soreness from his muscles. He even brings out the lightly scented sandalwood massage oil that Dean pretends to scoff at.

The deeper he falls in love with Dean, the more they’re together, the more he finds himself enjoying aftercare far more than he did with anyone else. It’s probably because Dean will never fail to grudgingly accept the care, even as his body contradicts his words and melts under Castiel’s ministrations before his brain is completely ready to give in. The act of caring for Dean is Castiel’s own self-care. The longer he keeps his focus solely on his husband, the lighter his own mood becomes. He enjoys studying the bruises on his wrists, the red marks on his ass. The symbols of their love and supreme trust. Along with their wedding rings, and Dean’s anklet, it’s the most humbling and beautiful thing Castiel’s life has ever been blessed with.

Eventually, Dean breaks the silence and contemplation when he mumbles into his pillow, “we should have taken a honeymoon.”

Castiel grins, nose wrinkling. “Why? So you can make me massage you all day and night?”

“And never stop again. Or we could go to a resort that has a masseuse on call. Then you could like, change shifts or something. I dunno.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be able to get up to anything else, would we?”

“This very second, I don’t care.”

“You should because we have work to do.”

“Shut your cussing mouth,” Dean admonishes. “Work. _Psh_! Fuck off, it’s our wedding night-morning.”

Castiel laughs, bright and honest. “You’re starting to create an endless cycle of laziness.”

“Your point?” But there’s a growing smile in Dean’s voice.

Castiel kisses the tip of Dean’s ear. Right over the tiny freckle he’d discovered last night. “Laziness is a sin,” he murmurs.

Dean moves only enough to raise his shoulder so that he can turn his head to see Castiel better and level him with a flat look. “When have I _ever_ been concerned with sinning?”

Castiel purses his lips, though the prissy expression is ruined by the mirth in his eyes. “We’re married now. Perhaps you should start to consider your immortal soul so that we have a chance at eternity together, rather than just this life.”

Dean gives him a contemplative once over. Then he grins. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything so cheesy to me in... ever.”

Castiel huffs and slaps Dean’s ass for good measure, making his mouthy husband yelp and flip over onto his back with the speed that would make a ninja proud.

“Asshole!” Dean gasps.

Castiel slides back and begins collecting his discarded clothes. “But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

Taking stock, Dean gives actual consideration to both body and mind. He has to admit he’s feeling pretty damn good now. Maybe not a hundred percent quite yet, but definitely worlds beyond where he’d started just a half an hour ago. “Yeah,” he admits. “Good enough to take on the day, I guess. Did you really have stuff planned, because I gotta protest that. Formally, if necessary.”

“You put too many swear words in your ‘formal’ written complaints. And besides, it’s not a lot,” Castiel assures him. “Charlie needs to move some extra files here, and I have to collect them. But we’re out of room in the closet. Benny says he’ll get everything that we’ve already catalogued to the secure shredder if we move it all downstairs. I’m sure Sam will be willing to help.”

Dean groans for real. “Dude, those boxes are stacked to the freaking _ceiling_!”

“And once they’re out of the way, we won’t have to worry about them anymore. Might as well do some general housekeeping duties while we have the luxury of a few days off with nothing on the schedule.”

“Can I complain about it the whole time?”

“Only to Sam.”

“Deal.” He rolls out of bed, tossing his wrinkled clothes back on.

Despite the later morning hour, they’re the first ones in the kitchen, probably because the rest of the family was up obscenely late at the reception. Dean vaguely recalls still hearing music when he’d drifted to sleep after his incredibly wedding night. Which is all well and good because Dean’s always wondered what making out with Castiel in the early morning would be like when he’s awake for real. So he takes full advantage as soon as the coffee is percolating, backing his husband up against the counter and kissing him with the smell of expensive roasting beans filling the air. It gets as far as him hoisting Castiel up onto the counter for more leverage when there’s a groan behind him.

Groggily, Sam mumbles, “getting married isn’t permission to have sex all over the house.” He scoots around them to grab a coffee cup, glaring at his brothers. “Cas, I liked you better when you were a zombie before noon.”

Dean gives exactly zero shits about being caught, but Castiel was raised with manners, so he has the decency to look contrite. “I won’t remain a morning person. Also, my apologies,” he says, shoving Dean away. But then Dean comes back in for a kiss, making wet smacking noises and everything, and Castiel plants his palm on Dean’s face to push him away. “Don’t worry, though. The luster of marital bliss is _somehow_ already wearing off.”

Dean bites Castiel’s finger in silent retaliation, pours his own coffee, and gives his husband a level, unblinking scowl as he wanders towards the table.

That cheers Sam right up. “At least the wedding was nice. Can’t wait to see y’all duke it out for custody of me.”

“Cas can have you, you ungrateful dick,” Dean says airily, sipping his coffee daintily. “Why do you two always gang up on me?”

Sam and Castiel let out twin snorts and a nearly-tandem, “really?”

Sam sits down across from his brother. “I’m pretty sure Cas is blameless here. Sex in every room is _your_ calling card.”

Dean makes a thoughtful face that morphs into lewd nostalgia. “Yeah, it is.”

Before anyone can settle in for a while to call Dean disgusting, there’s another round of moaning and groaning from Gabriel, Charlie, and Benny, all looking a little worse for wear after the reception.

“You are dead to me, Winchester, Samuel William,” Gabriel is currently complaining as he lowers himself into a chair like it’s a bed of nails.

Charlie offers up and anemic grunt of agreement, and an added, “you’re all dead to me.”

Benny, slightly more spry than the rest, takes it upon himself to prepare their coffee. “Y’all need to quit your bitchin’. You threw down the gauntlet, and the price must be paid.”

Gabriel’s head thunks down onto the table. “Sam never drinks. How was I supposed to know his gargantuan height would account for a hundred percent of his alcohol tolerance?”

Dean grins knowingly at his brother. “Come on, really? Sam, that’s a cruel trick. You guys fell for that? Sammy could drink an army of dwarves under the table.”

Charlie huffs. “Thanks for telling us _now_ , you nerd.”

With an unrepentant shrug, Sam says, “they dared me. At least I didn’t pass the challenge on to Castiel.”

All eyes turn to the man demurely drinking his coffee with a bland expression. “What?”

“You can beat Sam at shots?” Charlie asks.

“He can beat literally anyone,” Sam answers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk, even after twelve shots and a bar crawl.”

Gabriel whistles low.

“I was stationed in Japan for a few years,” Castiel explains.

“You should have seen him that night at Stanford,” Sam says. “There was one point, after like, a gallon of vodka, he perks up and goes, ‘I think I’m starting to feel something.’ And that was it.”

Benny laughs and then grabs his head with a groan.

“I love everything about this,” Dean says.

“Sure you do,” Bobby says, finally making his appearance, chipper as a daisy. They all should probably have listened to him about his unorthodox hangover cures, because as unpalatable as his weird exotic tea blend is, Bobby Singer has never suffered a hangover that any of them can remember. Probably for the best. He’s cranky enough when he’s had enough sleep. He plops down at the table, swipes Dean’s coffee, and says, “what’s on the docket for today?”

All bleary eyes, plus Bobby’s and Dean’s, turn to Castiel again as usual.

Castiel clears his throat. “Well. If anyone’s up to it, we do have some housekeeping things to get done.” At the collective bitching, he hastens to add, “not _actual_ housekeeping work, but considering the upcoming schedule, I think it would be best if we stuck to what’s already planned. There’s plenty of time today, though.”

Gabriel and Charlie nod like it takes all their energy. “We should get the finals prepared for the conventions,” Charlie allows. “You’ve got some appearances scheduled this week, Sam, and then to Atlanta for the big con.”

Gabriel sighs. “While you’re off, I’m going to handhold some of my lesser stars and see what bullshit I can get them into.” He coughs. “Or get them out of.”

“I’ll take y’all back,” Benny offers like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do.

Sam claps his brother on the shoulder. “I agreed to help clear out those boxes in the office since Cas has better things to do.”

“Right, right,” Dean grins. “The annual shooting contest. I’m counting on you, Bobby. Got money riding on this.”

Bobby chuckles. “You’re betting against your husband?”

He shrugs. “I figure there’s still a year or two left before the student becomes the master.”

“O, ye of little faith,” Castiel says blithely.

“That’s some fancy shit talking coming from you,” Bobby snarks.

The Singer/Novak Duel has been a staple of their lives ever since Castiel had completed his bodyguard training under Bobby. During the shooting test, Bobby had given Castiel a misaligned gun that pulled to the left - on purpose, naturally - and watched the former Marine miss the dead center of the target only twice in twelve shots, and ever since then, they’d had an elaborate target contest once a year. Last year had been in a dense fog at targets set up inside Bobby’s junked cars in his salvage yard. Sam keeps threatening to pay for them to do it on horseback one year.

For safety, and possibly bragging reasons, no one else is allowed to attend, but the stories are still always awesome.

“What’s the weapon of choice this year?” Dean asks.

“My great grandfather’s muskets,” Castiel says, completely unironically.

Bobby’s eyes light up at the mention of them. “Can’t tell ya how long I been waiting to try ‘em.”

“Yeah, if they don’t explode in your face!” Dean counters with mild alarm. “Seriously? Muskets? From the Civil War? How is that even remotely safe?”

Castiel shrugs. “They’ve been retrofitted, and thoroughly cleaned and serviced last week by a professional. I’ve tested them. They’re completely safe.”

“Okey dokey,” Dean says doubtfully. “Good luck, General Sherman.”

“Maybe I should look into getting you guys better life insurance,” Sam muses.

“Enough lollygagging,” Bobby says sourly, not about to be put off from his contest. “We got crap to do, so let’s do it.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

It takes another hour for everyone to get cleaned up, fed, and moving without dying, but it happens, and the house clears, leaving Sam and Dean to tromp up to the office to begin their chores.

“I feel like I need a permission slip to be in here,” Sam mumbles, tip toeing into the room behind his brother.

“Oh, my God,” Dean gripes. “Dude, what exactly do you think goes on in here?”

“I don’t wanna know. I will never want to know,” Sam answers, looking like he’s sucked on a lemon.

Dean shoots his brother his best eye roll. “This is the office. Not even the bedroom.”

Glancing around with a twist of his lips, Sam mutters, “with an... inordinate amount of soft surfaces to have sex on.”

“What are you, ten?” Dean huffs. “Come on, I told Cas I’d get this shit cleared out, and I don’t wanna let him down on our first week of marriage. I need at least a month before I start screwing up, okay? I can’t do this on my own, either. So, buck up and stop thinking about sex, okay?”

“That last part is _so_ weird coming from you,” Sam says, humor returning as he opens the closet to the absolute mountain of boxes within. “Holy crap. What is all of this?” He grabs the top two boxes since he’s eight feet tall and can reach them more easily than Dean.

“Mostly your fan mail,” Dean answers, taking the next two. “Older stuff that’s been archived so we can shred it. Burn it. Wallpaper your bedroom.”

“Depends if this is the good stuff or the bad stuff,” Sam answers.

“Good stuff and weird stuff,” Dean shrugs. “Benny’s got the hookup to a great secure shredding place.”

“We don’t pay him enough,” Sam puffs, hauling the first load down the stairs.

“I second a pay raise to that beautiful man,” Dean agrees.

Laughing, Sam shoulders Dean out of the way, starting a childish race back up the stairs. “Ooh, I’m telling Cas you’re cheating already!” he sing-songs.

Dean elbows his brother through the doorway. “Have you _seen_ that beard? Those eyes? Man alive! Tell me you wouldn’t want that between your legs.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Sam deadpans, pulling out two more boxes.

Five more trips and it finally looks like they’re starting to make a dent.

Sam pauses after picking up the next box. “Huh. What’s this?” He slides the rest of the stacks out of the way to reveal a small safe door inlaid into the back wall of the closet.

Dean glances around his brother’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s just Cas’s gun safe.”

Sam blinks. “Wait, what? _How_? This tiny thing can’t possibly hold everything. I’ve never seen them all, but I always assumed he had, like... enough guns to arm a desert cult compound.”

“That’s Bobby you’re thinking of,” Dean says thoughtfully, though he has to admit Sam’s right. How could Castiel’s prized collection of antique firearms fit into such a small place? The door was no larger than one of those tiny hotel units. Did he have safes hidden all over the house? He couldn’t have installed several without Sam noticing, right? Hm. “I’m intrigued,” he says, studying the keypad lock. “He’s got his everyday sidearms in our bedroom safe. Wonder what’s stashed in here?”

Sam steps up beside him. “Should we really be snooping on your new husband?” he asks in a low voice, like Castiel would hear them talking at normal volume from across the city.

“Nah, but this isn’t stuff he’s hiding,” Dean reasons. “All responsible gun owners keep their firearms in a safe.”

“Still feels like snooping,” Sam says, though he doesn’t stop Dean from tapping in a few codes that don’t work. “If he didn’t care, he would have given you the code.”

“He changes all of his security codes every ninety days; I’d never remember them,” Dean answers. “But he’s pretty sentimental, so...” he keys in their wedding date. The safe door clicks open. Smiling softly, Dean murmurs, “cheese ball.” But then he gets a peek inside and can’t help totally agreeing with Sam’s noise of astonishment.

“It’s the Gun Safe of Holding,” Sam breathes in awe.

It had looked small because only the keypad and handle were out of place. The rest of the safe door is the _actual fucking wall_. Sam and Dean both have to take a step back to open it fully.

“Dean, this is...”

“Yeah,” he answers, equally awed.

“Like an action movie.”

“Yeah.”

For real, it’s like an action movie where the mentor or Mafioso presses a button and suddenly every surface flips over to reveal about a million weapons in every size. That’s what Castiel has. Only the shelves don’t flip. But there _are_ about a dozen of them, and they _do_ contain a huge amount of collector’s items. It’s a closet within a closet. Dean can actually _step into_ the gun safe.

“This is really amazing,” Sam says, perusing the collection like he’s in an art museum. “I wonder how many of these actually still work?”

“Probably all of them,” Dean muses. “Cas uses his bonus to have them all professionally cleaned. He mentioned it before, but I thought it was like... I dunno, a handful of collector pieces. But _this_? It’s like the whole history of firearms. Bet you can’t even get ammo for a lot of these anymore.”

“You would be correct,” a voice says from the doorway.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean shouts, whipping around with an armful of tommy gun.

Sam gingerly replaces the Smith and Wesson he’d been holding, looking guilty as hell. “We didn’t mean to snoop,” he tells Castiel.

“You shouldn’t use birthdays or anniversaries as your passcode,” Dean mutters.

Castiel’s frown is fairly unconvincing. “Noted.”

Bobby’s head peeks around the door and he lets out a long whistle. “Looks like I’ve taught you well,” he says approvingly, and full of envy.

Dean snorts. “Don’t be so proud of turning Cas into a weird hoarder.”

“There’s nothing strange about it,” Castiel says imperiously. “I don’t even use any of these weapons. They’re purely for display and collection.”

Grinning, Dean says, “yeah, the only thing you need to fit in better here in Texas is a pickup with a gun rack.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Castiel retorts, “you make enough fun of my _real_ car. What in the hell makes me think for a second you’d let me have a pickup truck?”

“Not a snowball’s chance,” Dean laughs.

“Are you done poking around?” Castiel asks moodily.

“Yes, we are,” Sam rushes to say. “We totally are. For real, sorry, Cas. But seriously? Awesome collection.”

They step out of the room and Castiel closes the door firmly.

“Why are you even back so soon?” Dean asks as they all carry the rest of the boxes to the hallway.

“I forgot my phone,” Castiel answers. “We’ve finished with Charlie, so I came back here before going to the range since it’s on the way. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Good luck,” Sam says cheerfully.

Bobby tips his dirty trucker hat in acknowledgement and Castiel gives the brothers a sly wink behind his back as they exit back into the garage.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean isn’t sure whether autograph sessions are worth the effort, or just a complete pain in the ass. Sam loves them, of course. Talking with his fans directly, even if just for a few seconds, grounds him. He says it keeps him humble, but no one in the world who’s ever met him could say he’s anything but.

Dean loves seeing his brother happy, but the constant high alert for hours on end is pretty freaking terrible. Even Castiel shows tension in his shoulders as he stands to the left of Sam during the second hour, eyes steely on everyone who approaches; noting every handshake, every word, every smile, every request for a selfie. He memorizes and mentally catalogues them just as Dean does. Castiel is in charge of the approaching line, Dean making sure the departing guests actually leave and don’t hang around to either clog the exits, or sneak pictures. Two hours of it is giving him a goddamn headache, though. He doesn’t like so many people being so close to Sam for such a long period of time.

Luckily, the production company knows what they’re doing. Their handlers manage to keep the line orderly and civil. Dean himself watches their staff stop at least ten people out of the hundreds in line from causing problems before they even start. They comfort the emotional fans, take away objects that are banned for signing, and their skill is a huge asset. The fact that Sam’s costars are in attendance also helps a lot.

It’s nearly three hours of noise when Castiel’s voice crackles through the radio. “I can see the end of the line.”

“Thank God,” Dean mutters back, scowling. His fucking knees are aching having to stand still for so long. “How many?”

“About twenty or so as far as I can tell.”

“Good. Let’s move Sam the second the last fan is out the door.”

“Understood. Benny’s standing by outside the service entrance.”

Dean scans the rest of the autograph line, actually a bit surprised by the wide demographic. Teenagers through older adults. All genders. It’s pretty impressive that _Wayward Brothers_ has such a diverse following already.

“You’ve done such a wonderful job so far,” a man is saying to Sam as he scrawls the guy’s name on a glossy headshot.

“Thanks,” Sam grins up at him, tossing aside the dried up Sharpie he’d been using and uncapping another. “I love working on the show.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard it a hundred times already, but your show really does mean a lot to me and my brother. Thank you for everything you do. You’re changing lives.”

Sam scribbles his name and offers the photo up with his best smile. “I don’t know about _that_ , but I’m touched that you think so. Take care of yourself, okay? Thanks for coming.”

“It was an honor to meet you,” the man smiles, clutching the headshot.

“Likewise. Be seeing ya!”

The handler at the head of the table gestures for the man to move along and he shuffles off to let a snot-crying mom and daughter combo have their turn.

“We’ve loved you since _Fairy Tales_!” the daughter sobs, handing over her poster to sign.

Sam takes a second to study the old teaser poster from the show. “Wow,” he exclaims. “Haven’t seen this in ages!”

“We’re going to frame it and put it in the living room,” the mother sniffles, also offering up a cast photo for _Wayward Brothers_ that’s collected the other signatures.

Sam signs them both with a flourish. “Thanks for your support, ladies.” Then he winks and the women dissolve further. “Be seeing ya!”

Dean actually chuckles at that. The poor women will probably remember this encounter for the rest of their lives. Sam hears his laugh and shoots him a shit-eating grin.

Finally the whole ordeal is over and they’re hustling Sam back to the car. Luckily everything has run exactly on schedule because they’re already pushing it to make it to the airport in time to catch their flight to Atlanta for the convention.

Benny gets them where they’re going and into the prepaid parking with plenty of time to spare, though as with all tight schedules, Castiel frets until they’re all sitting in the executive lounge waiting to board.

Sam slouches in the leather chair near the bar, alternating icing his sore signing hand and stretching it.

Dean orders a round of beers - just one per Castiel’s insistence - and collapses next to his husband. “Long fucking day,” he mutters, taking a long drink out of the bottle and kicking his legs out.

“Agreed,” Castiel murmurs.

They’re mostly silent until the flight is called, draining their beers and collecting their carry ons. Dean hangs back when his phone buzzes in his pocket, mouthing to Castiel, _Bobby_ , and waving him on. Benny takes up Dean’s vacated space on Sam’s left and the three of them board first.

“Hey, we’re about to get on the plane,” Dean says. “What’s up?”

“We found your man,” Bobby says. “Jody’s here with me.”

“Hey, Dean,” Jody says over the speaker. “Had to do some digging, and get help from your girl, Charlie, but I’m sure we found this Lucifer. Took so much time because we were working under the assumption that Lucifer was an alias.”

Dean squints. “It’s not?”

“No,” Bobby says. “It’s his name. We forwarded his profile to your email. Photo included. He’s a real piece of work, so keep a good eye out, okay?”

“Got it,” Dean assures him. “Thanks, guys. I’ll touch base when we land.” He hangs up and sees the email icon in the status bar. He opens the message and his heart lurches. “Shit,” he whispers. “ _Shit_!”

The DMV photo staring back at him is a few years old, but he recognizes the face. He’d seen it two hours ago at the signing. Lucifer Pellegrino. He’d been at the signing. He’d shaken Sam’s hand. He’d _spoken_ to Sam. With a cold thrill of horror, Dean recalls Sam’s parting words. What he says to nearly everyone. _Be seeing ya._

Lucifer would probably take it literally.

That didn’t bode well.

Dean tucks his phone back in his pocket grimly and boards the plane, suddenly dreading their trip.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Sam arrives in Atlanta for a convention appearance. It does not go as planned.
> 
> Also, **_THIS CHAPTER ENDS PART 1!_** Please beware the angsty tags because they all apply to Part 2. I will continue to tag chapters as needed, but just be aware that the kid gloves are coming off and things are about to change around here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  hand jobs  
> shower sex  
> graphic violence  
> very brief Sabriel (non-sexual)  
> angst
> 
> Please be aware that all those angsty tags on the main page? They apply to the next... well, rest of the fic, really. :D

The good thing about flying first class is that there’s plenty of opportunity for Dean to pull Castiel aside without Sam overhearing them. He’s conked out with his noise cancelling headphones, swivel seat turned away slightly. Benny is in the next seat over, so there’s an extra barrier between the bodyguards along with the aisle.

Dean leans over his armrest as close to Castiel as he can get, anyway.

“Nervous?” Castiel smiles.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll never not be about flying, but that’s not the issue here. We got a problem.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up. “Oh?”

“Bobby and Jody sent me the information about our Lucifer.”

“They found him?” Castiel says, turning fully in his seat. He casts a furtive glance towards Sam and then his eyes fix on Dean.

“They found him,” Dean confirms. “He was at the signing this morning.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow in a dangerous scowl that, despite the seriousness of the situation, Dean takes a moment to admire. “What did he do?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary that I can remember. No one stood out or said anything inappropriate.” He fishes his phone out of his jacket now that the plane is at altitude and pulls up the picture he’d been sent.

Castiel studies it long and hard. “Do we have enough to alert local police in Atlanta?”

“No,” Dean answers. “But as soon as we get Sam set up at the hotel, we can alert hotel and con security to be on the lookout. I’ll make sure his picture is everywhere.”

“Maybe we should hire more people for this,” Castiel says thoughtfully.

“Dude, if we can’t do this with what we’ve got, we’re worthless. Sam’ll be under watch constantly, and completely secure in the green room otherwise. It’s one guy who might not even show.”

“That’s what worries me most,” Castiel argues. “It’s one man in a crowd of a thousand, who we aren’t sure is there or not. This isn’t set security.”

“It’s more controlled than grocery shopping,” Dean returns. “You know, those fucking farmer’s markets that Sam loves. Complete goddamn hippie pandemonium.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Castiel chuckles a little and leans even closer to Dean, winking. “You realize I make you go to those because you hate them so much, right?”

“And people say romance is dead,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Now, back to my point. Sam’ll be covered by someone at all times. And the convention director says that they’ve hired some local PD for extra security as well. We don’t need to pull out our own wallets for this one. But we gotta circulate Lucifer’s file and picture to everyone when we huddle up tonight.”

“Agreed,” Castiel answers. “And...” he pauses, gaze sliding to the other side of the aisle. “We need to make Sam aware of the situation.”

“Bring him in on the meeting tonight,” Dean says grimly.

“We’ll keep him safe,” Castiel assures him, reaching over and threading his fingers with Dean’s. “No matter what.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighs. “Fame sucks.”

Castiel smiles. “That’s why _we’re_ here.”

Dean rests his head back against the seat, and closes his eyes, but doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hand. “Yeah.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

Atlanta’s airport is utter and complete chaos. Dean, who already doesn’t tolerate flying well at all, is surly to the point of throwing elbows as they weave their way through the packed crowds of travelers towards the trains that may or may not deliver them to the baggage claim before they die of old age.

Castiel and Benny take up posts on either side of Sam while Dean parts the crowds in front of him by trying to out-harass the already-harassed airport patrons. And once stuffed inside the train, settles on standing as close to the exit doors as he can while muttering, “fucking Atlanta with the world’s busiest airport. And fucking bugs. And fucking lava air. And fucking _people_.”

“I like it,” Sam smiles, breathing slightly labored from having to keep up with his brother. “Everyone’s so nice.”

Benny chuckles. “Sure do like getting back to some real Southern hospitality.”

“I’m craving some sweet tea,” Castiel muses.

“Okay, if we’re done talking about literally all the South’s goddamn stereotypes, can we please move and get our suitcases?” Dean grouches, shouldering off the train before anyone else can so much as blink.

Wisely, Benny makes a break for it the second he’s able. “I’m gonna go pick up the car and bring it around. Gabe said it should be parked in daily.” He melts into the crowd, Dean scowling after him. Scowling harder when someone tries to squeeze up past him to the baggage carousel, causing him to widen his stance in silent mutiny.

Thankfully, they’d checked into the flight early enough that it doesn’t take long for their luggage to appear.

Dean still manages to renew his litany of bitching about the air and everything in between, though Sam helpfully points out that it’s winter, to which Dean reminds him that 60 degrees isn’t, in fact, winter, it is “winter.”

Benny, being the superhero that he is, is ready with the car on the curb, trunk already open. They pile in with sighs of relief.

“How far?” Dean mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“‘Bout ten miles,” Benny answers, merging into traffic on I-85. “Straight shot to downtown, and we’re missing rush hour.”

“Work your usual miracles, Benny,” Dean says.

“On it, brother.”

The fates are also on their side and Benny gets them to their destination in no time. “Good news is we’re staying right across the street from the con hotel.” He points out the window to indicate the tall, circular city landmark. “They’ve got a back entrance from our hotel that’ll be good access close to the green room.”

“There better not be bad news,” Dean grouches.

“Nah,” Benny grins. “Just better news. The presidential suite at the Marriott is pretty freaking nice.”

Sam laughs. “Awesome. Guess the rest of the cast is staying there as well?”

Benny shrugs. “Most are. A few at the Hyatt. But all you main bills are living large here.” He pulls up to the valet and rolls down the window to have a short conversation with the uniformed man standing at the front. They’ve been apprised of the cast’s impending arrival, thus Sam’s group is ushered in and taken to their suite within minutes. The convention has left them a large gift basket on the counter of the sprawling suite, which Dean digs into immediately. They’ve got a half an hour before the joint security meeting, and Sam says he’ll make himself scarce as usual, but Castiel stops him.

“You’ll need to be here for this one,” he says.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks back and forth between his brother and new brother in-law. “What? Really? Why?”

Dean’s shoulders slouch a little. “Because we’ve got a security risk that concerns you.” He gestures and Sam takes a seat on the leather sofa that can fit about ten people. Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean sits next to him. “Look, you’ve got a stalker we’re concerned about, man. We were trying to keep you out of it as long as possible, but we had Bobby and Jody do some digging along with Charlie, and we think this guy’s gonna overstep his bounds. Or try to.”

Sam leans back against the couch. “Shit. Seriously? How bad is it?”

Castiel perches on the edge of the coffee table. “He came to your signing, and he’s got a record. His letters and emails to you have been... more than concerning over time.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?” Normally, Sam is fairly calm about trusting them to do their jobs, but the accusation is heavy enough in his tone now that Dean feels a stab of shame.

“We didn’t know his real identity until today. That’s what Bobby called about as we were boarding the flight.”

Sam’s retort is cut off by a planned patterned knock on the door, signaling the arrival of the rest of the security team.

Castiel stands to welcome in convention security, hotel security from both the Marriott and Westin, as well as local Atlanta police who have contracted to work for them over the weekend. They shake hands and introduce themselves around before Dean takes the floor.

“Okay, y’all. Aside from the usual security measures, we have an individual who has been stalking Sam here, and we have reason to believe he might show up at this convention. I’ll be forwarding you his file and picture, and I want eyes peeled for this guy at all times, even before Sam shows his mug for panels and stuff. He’s dangerous, unstable, and yes, his real name is actually Lucifer. If you see him, detain him as quietly as possible.”

One of the cops holds up a hand. “If he knows his rights, he won’t let us hold him.”

Castiel steps forward. “He has an outstanding warrant for his arrest in New Jersey. If we get him, we can turn him over. He’ll be facing jail time, and be comfortably away from Sam. It’s a win-win.”

Dean nods. “And look, people. My badge is yours as long as I’m here. I’m not trying to step on any toes or run the show. This is your city, but I protect people in mine, too. I’m a team player. Anything you need? Ask me, and you’ll get it.”

“We appreciate that,” the APD sergeant says. “We’ve got your back. All my people here are working on their own time, so they know what the deal is. If this Lucifer character is here, and you say he’s bad, we’ll get him and turn him over as best we can. My team’s all convention veterans from Dragon Con and other fan conventions, to these smaller shows. We know the drill, so do your thing, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thanks,” Dean says with a grin. He passes his tablet to Sam and Castiel gives his to the group. “Now, you’ll all have this info forwarded to you, but take a good look for now, and those of you on tonight at the Westin, check the incoming traffic. None of the surrounding hotels have a Lucifer Pellegrino on the books, but he could be using an alias or staying further out.”

One of the cops raises her hand briefly. “What are the chances he’ll show so far from home?”

Dean hesitates, and Castiel takes up the slack, knowing intrinsically that Dean won’t want to show off or rely on his own profile, even though he should. “There’s a good chance. He was at a recent autograph signing, and his letters to Sam have been increasing in frequency and intensity. Dean has profiled him perfectly up until now, and that profile points to Lucifer making further contact soon, and it could be violent if we’re not careful.”

Sam clears his throat, and when all eyes turn to him, he shrinks a little sheepishly. “Is it... I mean... I’m really grateful to all of you, but should we be going through all this trouble?” His shoulders shrug up and his head tilts from side to side, a gesture he’s had since he was a kid. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me. Maybe we should cancel some stuff. The more personal stuff, like autographs and photo-ops.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Unfortunately, that probably won’t do any good. We don’t want to tip Lucifer off, for one, and two, he’ll simply find another way to make contact. At least in a line, he’s easier to spot. And if he _does_ show up, we can catch him now, rather than having to stay on high alert indefinitely for his next chance.”

Dean pats his brother on the shoulder. “We’re here to keep you safe, Sammy. And each other. We got this.”

“Okay,” Sam says doubtfully, but his look is earnest. “Thanks, everyone. Please be careful, okay?”

Everyone nods and murmurs their promises.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

The first day of the convention, Friday, is pins and needles for the team. Dean and Castiel don’t joke or banter, sticking to their posts with eyes constantly trained on the crowds. It puts Sam on edge, though he plays to the show’s fans well when he’s in public. There’s blessedly no sign of Lucifer, though if he has to show up, Dean would prefer it sooner rather than later after the long hours and exhaustion set in. But the more the day goes on, the more Sam relaxes. He’s all beaming smiles and excitement when they make it back to the suite past midnight.

“I love these cons!” he enthuses. “All these people! And they’re so nice and supportive! Did you hear those questions they were asking at the opening panel? They know stuff I never even _thought_ of before! They’ve all probably watched _Fairy Tales_ more than I have.”

“Cool it, Samantha,” Dean says with a smile. “You need to get your beauty sleep or you’ll burn out by tomorrow night.”

“Never gonna happen!” Sam chirps, traipsing towards the master bathroom to shower before going to bed. He slams the door, leaving his brothers to themselves.

“We should turn in, too,” Castiel muses, nodding over his shoulder to the other bedroom.

Wearily, Dean nods and follows, rubbing his shoulders with a groan. “Feels like I’ve got rocks for muscles.”

Castiel closes the door and sidles up behind Dean, digging into the tight muscles on his shoulders and the back of his neck briefly. “Yes, you do. To me you looked quite calm on the whole.”

“I tried,” Dean answers, stripping off his shirt and dress pants, not worrying about wrinkles as he tosses them onto the armchair by the window. “It’s hard enough trying to protect Sammy from _possible_ threats when they’re some vague maybe’s. But with a _real_ threat like this? Man, I dunno what to do.”

Castiel turns Dean to face him, stroking his shoulders and then squeezing his upper arms comfortingly. “Yes, you do. You do what you’ve been trained for. Not wanting to need your training isn’t the same as not having it.”

“I know,” Dean sighs. He backsteps to the bed and sits on the edge, head in his hands, weary to his bones. Worried to his core. He feels the bed dip as Castiel climbs up behind him, straddling his hips and using his hands to massage out the worst of the knots. He follows up his ministrations with small kisses to the back of Dean’s neck, across his shoulders, warm and adoring until his husband sags against him, Castiel supporting his weight with firm hands wrapped around his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers into Dean’s ear as he dozes against his shoulder.

“Love ya, too,” Dean slurs, finally relaxed enough to be drawn into sleep. And once he’s out, Castiel tucks him into bed with a smile.

But it’s a long time before he’s able to settle. He’s put Dean’s cell phone on Do Not Disturb, and for good reason. For the past hour, Gabriel has been sending a huge group text with a lot of all caps about not being made aware of Sam’s stalker sooner. He finally texts himself out around two in the morning, with a curt, “I’ll be there tomorrow, you shitheads.” Castiel rolls his eyes, but he has to admit that Sam having extra emotional support will do nothing but good. Hopefully. Gabriel has his moments, but he certainly knows when and where he’s needed.

Dean doesn’t need the added stress, anyway. Not until morning.

Of course, mornings have a way of coming way too quickly sometimes. Castiel feels like he’s only just closed his eyes when Dean is muttering, “Jesus Christ, what is Gabriel’s damage?”

“Plenty,” Castiel mumbles, rolling into Dean’s warmth and nuzzling into his neck, pressing lazy, sleepy kisses along his strong jawline, half hard against his hip. He slips Dean’s phone out of his hands and tosses it aside.

“I’m spoiling you with this morning sex to wake you up,” Dean says, smile indulgent in his voice.

Castiel only makes a contented humming noise before moving closer, blanketing Dean with his body, small noises of desire leaking past his lips as Dean kisses them away.

“We got time?”

“Of course not,” Castiel grumbles.

“Shower then,” Dean says.

Castiel is out of the bed in a flash, yanking Dean along with him to their private bath, stripping off their boxers so quickly that they both stumble into one another, laughing a little, and kissing like their lives depend on it. Hard bruising crashes of their lips that are enough to tolerate a shock of cold water in their impatience to be naked and wet together rather than wait for the water to get warm.

Castiel practically throws Dean against the stone wall, and the sound of satisfaction Dean makes when his back collides roughly with the tile is perfection. “This is why I love morning sex with you,” Dean grins, tracking Castiel’s hungry gaze as it rakes over him.

“Oh?” Is all Castiel can manage before surging forward to yank at Dean’s hair, forcing his head back, biting roughly at his neck. Below the collar for the sake of their combined dignity.

“You’re incapable of being nice in the morning,” Dean moans, grinding himself against Castiel’s thigh, blunt fingernails leaving crescents on his shoulders.

Castiel grabs blindly for the conditioner, absolutely no time for style. Just the feeling of it. He squirts a generous amount in this palm, then takes both their dicks in hand, pumping them frantically, back blocking the spray of water. It pours down his head and over his body, leaking from his mouth, and all Dean can do is hold on for dear life, sucking in the humid, wet air. Jolt his hips and fuck into Castiel’s fist for all he’s worth.

Castiel comes even faster than he usually does when he’s out of control, growling and latching his teeth onto Dean’s pectoral hard enough to bruise.

The pain of the bite, and the tightening of Castiel’s fist doesn’t afford Dean much time before he’s tensing and coming hard.

Castiel’s grip loosens. He rubs them slowly until the aftershocks are too much. Then it’s Dean’s _real_ favorite part where he and Castiel trade lazy kisses; soft tender things that making coming down from the high that much easier. So much better.

Reality’s a lot easier to handle after that. Castiel’s tiny smile, that at this time of day might as well be a full on grin, is the cherry on top. The icing is Castiel allowing them to help dry and dress each other, fastening dress pants and tugging on undershirts. Presentable enough for breakfast, at least.

Sam, of course, is up in the room’s kitchen, making coffee with a frown, still half dressed, hair a mess.

“‘Morning,” Dean says curiously, digging for the room service menu under a pile of flyers for hotel services and local tourist attractions. “Did you sleep?”

“For a while,” Sam grumps. “Gabriel kept texting, and when I didn’t answer, he started calling over and over. Didn’t seem to care about the time difference.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offers. “I probably should have answered his texts in a more timely manner.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam says with a thin smile. “Gabe’s gotten... pretty protective lately.”

Dean’s lips turn down. “In a bad way?”

Sam picks up the carafe and pours himself a cup of coffee. His smile is familiar. It’s one Dean’s been wearing a lot lately, too. “Nah,” he breathes. “Just not used to it.” He offers the carafe out and Dean takes it to make himself and Castiel a cup.

“When will he arrive?” Castiel asks. “We can send Benny to collect him from the airport.”

“One,” Sam answers. “I appreciate it.”

“We have two hours until the meet and greet,” Castiel says. “Should I order us some breakfast?”

“Please,” Sam sighs, lowering himself to the kitchen table. “At least with Gabriel here, he can keep the coffee flowing so I survive the weekend.”

Castiel smiles. “We’ll make sure you get proper rest tonight.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Thanks, guys.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

For all intents and purposes, the day goes smoothly. Sam has even more exposure to the crowds than he did previously on Friday, but despite never having worked together before, the security detail is a well-oiled machine. At first it only adds to the chaos with a dozen more people in Dean’s ear over the radio, but he adjusts quickly, comforted by their skill and professionalism.

The biggest risks of the day are the autographs and photo-ops. Neither Dean nor Castiel worries quite as much when Sam is in group ops with his costars, but when he’s alone, the tension is palpable. The Atlanta police put two conspicuous, uniformed officers on either side of the room. Castiel walks the substantial lines, while Dean sticks close to his brother, right next to the table by the photo backdrop, and directly behind Sam in the autograph line.

No one matching Lucifer’s description shows.

Sam’s rallied his energy after lunch, ready for his group panel at one o’clock, and then a solo panel at four.

He’s beaming, ready to take on the world when the MC and house band introduce him for his solo panel onto the stage.

Gabriel has arrived from the airport by then, and everyone turns away as he sends his superstar lover off to his adoring fans with an embarrassingly deep kiss.

The screaming roar of the crowd is deafening as Castiel holds open the blackout curtain for Sam to step onto the stage. The cacophony only increases as a thousand people jump to their feet in adulation.

Sam gives the MC a tight hug, and then applauds the band as they wind down their song.

“Green room secure,” Castiel says over the radio.

“Exits secure,” a police officer says.

“Red and yellow zone secure, security standing by at the Q&A line,” another cop says.

As they check in, Dean’s eyes flick from one location to the other, and he doesn’t move from his post at the edge of stage left, directly in front of the audience. “Keep the lights at half,” he says. The information is relayed to the convention crew, and the house lights dim, but don’t go out completely like they had for the other panels.

Sam sits in the chair provided on the stage, dead center, and Dean hates this. But Sam loves it, so he endures, trusting the people around him to keep him safe.

At least the convention attendees have been well-behaved thus far. They’re enthusiastic, and though more than a few lost their shit being so close to the show’s stars, on the whole it was simple overwhelming star struck tears, than anything more malicious.

And right now, the audience’s enthusiasm is genuine and joyful, if really freaking noisy. Dean keeps enduring and Sam responds to the joy of his fans with joy of his own.

For the most part, Dean ignores the questions and answers in favor of staying vigilant, until a giggling teenage fan steps up to the mic and says, “so... I know recently you broke up with Ruby Cortese, and I’m sorry about that. But...” more giggling. “How’s the single life treating you?”

The audience laughs and cheers, and there’s a snort over the radio. “Could have seen that coming,” Castiel says dryly.

Then the more distant voice of Gabriel snarks, “he better make up some raunchy lies.”

Even Dean can muster up some humor here. “Your whole life is a raunchy lie.”

On stage, Sam is looking appropriately embarrassed and pleased. “It’s not treating me at all,” he answers, and the crowd goes _wild_. He waves them down and once they calm, continues, “I’ve been seeing someone lately.” More cheering mixed with good natured boos. “It’s pretty new, but it’s also really good. And Ruby and I are still friends. We just didn’t fit, y’know? She’s great, though. I really liked working with her on _Wayward Brothers_ , and hope she comes back for more episodes.”

The giggling girl thanks him and Sam thanks her in return.

“ _No_!” someone in the audience screams suddenly.

The room goes quiet and heads begin to turn in all directions. Living his worst nightmare before he even fully realizes it, Dean’s hand drops to his holster, but he can’t see the entire audience from his position in the dim light. “Eyes,” he says shortly.

Turns out to be a moot point because the audience member isn’t in the seats. He’s come through a side door near the stage, which is relatively unguarded since Dean is close to it. How hadn’t he noticed someone entering?

_Lucifer._

“You were mine! You were supposed to me mine!” he shouts, and Dean’s eyes don’t leave the man’s face. He can see the rest of the security detail moving in quickly, but there’s a flash of metal and Dean holds up his hand for them to freeze.

“He’s armed.” Lucifer is armed in a huge crowd of people.

People begin to realize what’s happening, and rippling panic sets in. Everyone starts to move, and more start to scream. There’s going to be a stampede.

Acting on instinct alone, Dean leaps onto the stage without turning his back completely, but Castiel had been there in a flash, already disappearing with Sam behind the blackout curtain. It takes three seconds for his terse hand signals over the shouting and panic in the crowds to convey his intentions.

_I’ve got Sam. Take down Lucifer._

He turns his full attention back to Lucifer and the man has a gun pointed right at him, but Dean isn’t the target. And in the split second their gazes lock, Dean can tell that Lucifer knows he won’t get to Sam this way, so he bolts for the emergency exit.

Dean gives chase immediately. Over the radio he calls, “main theater stay with crowd control, _do not let anyone out_! Do you copy?” He prays someone can hear him over the commotion inside.

“Roger,” a blessed voice replies. “Moving to channel three.”

That’ll keep them out of his ear with chatter he doesn’t need to sort through. The emergency exit opens into a long hallway that’s clearly for staff only. Lucifer has covered a lot of ground, but Dean Winchester is nothing if not fast. “Patrol, converge on main lobby and parking lot! It’s Lucifer and he’s armed. Dean Winchester in pursuit.”

“10-4,” another officer answers calmly as Dean eats up the space between him and his target. His stomach flips when the man wastes a precious second to glance over his shoulder and fire wildly.

Dean breaks to the opposite side on instinct, and is highly displeased at how close the shot comes to hitting him, even without proper aim as a chunk of the cinder block wall explodes less than a foot away. Lucifer has had training. Good to know. “You better stop that shit if you know what’s good for you!” he yells, raising his own weapon but loathe to shoot while running.

He’s almost on the guy, but then Lucifer has made it to the end of the dim hall and he slams into the metal door. The bright glare of the sun momentarily blinds Dean, as unprepared for it being low and in his face as it is.

Another shot rings out, deafening and then... fucking _burning_. “Son of a _bitch_!” Dean yells, brought to his knees, and giving Lucifer the time he needs to escape.

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice rings over the radio. “I heard shots, and you... are you all right?”

Dean wastes precious time to grind his teeth and check his leg. Blood is oozing from his thigh through a stripe in his ripped trousers. “Fine,” he says testily. “Bastard fucking winged me.”

“I’ve called for medical.”

“I’m fine.”

“So is Sam. Be careful.”

Dean staggers to his feet. Flicks the safety off his gun mostly out of spite, and then resumes his hunt at a slower, but no less compelling pace.

The exit has opened up into the parking lot right off the main street to the hotel. There’s no telling which direction Lucifer went in, but there’s a pretty good vantage point from all directions a couple yards up.

Dean limp/jogs towards the parking lot’s entry. “Lost visual,” he radios in. “He made it outside.”

“On our way,” an officer answers.

Dean turns this way and that at the crossroads, but nothing seems out of place. No one running, no speeding vehicles. It’s infuriatingly normal. “Goddammit,” he mutters.

Tires squealing suddenly raise the hair on the back of his neck. He swings around just in time to see a devil-red sedan bearing down on him. Towards the parking lot exit that he’s blocking. With his body.

Muscle memory and years of training save Dean’s reaction time. He raises the pearl handled Colt and aims directly for the car’s front tires. Two quick shots and the driver’s side tire pops, sending the car into a screeching fishtail. Dean dives out of the way to a comfortable safe distance, but realizes too late that he’s also underestimated Lucifer’s driving ability.

He swings around to face the car just in time to see headlights bearing down. Too close. _Way_ too close. Foolishly, his hands raise to block the impact, but it’s worthless. He knows that. His eyes slam closed, and in the heartbreaking moment before impact, he tries to picture Castiel smiling, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’ll be the last thing he ever knows.

That is, of course, until unnaturally searing pain erupts through his entire body to the sound of mangled, shrieking metal. And as the world _finally_ disappears around him, he hears the man he loves always in his ear, screaming, “ ** _DEAN!_** ”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes downhill. And then it hits rock bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That cliffhanger was a doozy, so I spent all day writing the next chapter so y'all could... well, keep being sad, I guess? :D
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  graphic injury descriptions  
> major character injury  
> main character near-death  
> angst

“What’s happening?” Sam demands, voice sounding awfully far away.

Castiel doesn’t answer. He hears the crash. He hears everything. He hears commotion, brief silence, and then the carefully controlled, but adrenaline-thick voice saying, “officer down. We need medical.”

“Patrol has visual. Red sedan, no plates. Merging onto 75-South by North Ave. Let’s get some road blocks up. In pursuit. All available units respond.”

“Medical enroute.”

In that singular moment as he springs from the sofa, Sam, Benny, and Gabriel’s worried gazes on him, Castiel realizes that he’s never felt true cloying terror until this very moment. Not even when he was in the Marines. Not even when he was being shot at. Not even when he confessed who he was to Dean for the first time and risked being turned down.

No.

This is impossible to handle. He can feel it crackling from his scalp to his toes, trying to freeze him in place. He has to beat it. Voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever, he says, “stay here. Do not leave this room.”

And then he’s leaving his job behind, his friend, his family, because Lucifer is on the run and Dean isn’t in his ear for the moment. “Dean,” he says gently into his wrist mic while he sprints to the elevator and smashes the button. “Dean, I need you to answer me.”

No one answers.

The elevator ride seems to take an eternity.

“Dean? Do you copy?”

There are police officers in the lobby who usher Castiel outside the second he steps out of the elevator.

“This way,” they say. Nothing else.

Strangely, Castiel is comforted momentarily by that.

It’s incongruously quiet outside the hotel. There’s activity, but little movement. The local police are setting up crime scene tape and there’s a lot of talking going on. Castiel’s eyes sweep across the scene and freeze on a huddle of officers and security in the street right outside the parking lot. Someone is on the ground. There’s blood and a pair of shiny black dress shoes.

Castiel runs faster than he ever has in his life.

 _Dean._ “Dean!” His name repeated over and over again to the time of his fluttering heartbeat.

He’s unsure whether the people part for him, or if he shoves them away, but his knees hit the pavement painfully beside his husband, and no one tries to stop him. Distantly he hears sirens, but the sound fades as reality starts to sink in.

Some intrinsic part of him is glad that the sun is setting behind the buildings and skyscrapers so rapidly because seeing the carnage in broad daylight could only make it worse. But he still sees enough. More than enough.

Dean lays still on his back. A dark pool of blood spreads from the back of his head, face mangled with broken glass and abrasions. His left leg is jacked at an unnatural angle, and Castiel can’t even process the thought that it looks too flat.

Castiel’s hands reach out in an aborted movement, too scared to touch, but then Dean’s body jerks violently.

“He’s seizing!” someone yells and suddenly there’s a flurry of activity. The cops surround Dean again. One of them slides his coat under Dean’s head so it stops banging against the pavement, and Castiel’s uselessly shaking fingers claw at Dean’s tie and the top button of his shirt.

“Where the hell are the EMTs?” he bellows.

“Two minutes.”

Dean may not have that long, especially considering Castiel has no clue how long it’s already been.

But his attention is arrested again when a wet, choked off gasp punches from Dean’s chest and then he goes unnaturally still.

Castiel blinks. Slowly he reaches out and presses two fingers over Dean’s carotid artery. There’s nothing. There’s... _nothing._

Instinct alone moves Castiel. Ignoring everything else, he heaves himself over Dean’s prone body, straddling his waist and throwing all his weight behind his long-disused CPR training. “Dean!” Castiel yells through his terror. His hysteria. “No, Dean! You can’t do this! You can’t do this to us!” He doesn’t let up on the chest compressions for even a second, but no matter what he does, what he says, what he _feels_ , nothing changes. Nothing happens.

Dean’s eyes remain closed.

Castiel knows nothing but his single minded focus until a force tries to yank him away from his husband. Which can’t happen. He can’t let that happen! He scrambles against the force, kicking at it, hands reaching again for Dean. He has to... he needs to... _why is it so damn noisy_?!

His elbow connects with something solid and there’s a pained grunt behind him, followed by a, “dammit, Cas!”

“No, let me go!” Castiel screams at whoever’s holding him. “Dean! _That’s my husband_! I need to--!”

“ _Cas_!” the voice yells close to his ear. “The pros have him, brother. Back off, let them work!”

Castiel blinks again and suddenly Dean is surrounded by people in different uniforms than the police. Startled, he collapses back onto a sturdy lap. “Benny,” he gasps.

“It’s me,” Benny says soothingly. “Come on, they’re moving him in a sec. We gotta go.”

Castiel gets to his knees, and then hears, “still no pulse! Again!” And the whiteout terror is overtaking him once more.

Benny is ready this time, though. He holds Castiel like a vise around his waist, hauling him to his feet. “Grady,” he says against Castiel’s temple, and the word makes no sense. “Just down the street. Best trauma care there is.”

But Castiel can’t turn away. And as suddenly as the frantic energy had spurred him to movement, the horror that starts to sink in freezes him solid.

 _Dean is dead_. He has no heartbeat. Castiel lurches to the side and wretches into the gutter.

“Got it!” Someone yells. “I got it! Let’s move!”

From Castiel’s perspective, there’s a stampede after that. Dean is whisked away into the back of the ambulance faster than seems humanly possible, and a firefighter is there in front of Castiel, planting a firm hand on his chest. “You’re his husband?”

Castiel can’t speak. His jaw is clenched so tightly he can taste blood in his mouth.

“Yes,” Benny says. “This is Dean’s husband.”

“You from here?”

“No,” Benny says. “But they said Grady? That’s around the corner, right?”

“Yeah,” the firefighter confirms. He points. “Take this street down to Courtland. Hang a right and follow the signs. It’s six minutes away.”

“I need to go with him,” Castiel manages vaguely as the ambulance pulls away, sirens blaring, flanked front and back by police cars to clear the way quickly. It’s what they do for one of their own, even if their own lives halfway across the country. Castiel fights the thawing of his heart at the sight because he can’t afford to feel it right now. He _can’t_. The only way he can handle any of this is to lock it away until it’s time. Now is not the time.

“The bus was full. Don’t worry, he’s being taken care of. They got a pulse. Get to Grady and they can advise you.” The firefighter turns to Benny. “You okay to drive?”

“Yeah,” Benny says. “I’m good.”

He nods. “The police’ll take your statement later. Get going. We’ll open the roadblock for you.”

“Thanks,” Benny nods, then he’s dragging Castiel away, but the man resists for a moment, staggering towards the accident site.

 _There’s so much blood_ , he thinks dispassionately. But he’d seen something... _oh, no_. He teeters over, nearly falling in a wave of vertigo as his fingers close around Dean’s anklet, twisted, broken, scratched beyond recognition, and covered in blood. Only with it clenched tightly in his fist, hands sticky and itching with his husband’s drying blood, does Castiel finally let himself be led away to the SUV by Benny. Lights and sirens on, they make it to the hospital in less than the predicted six minutes.

Benny is in the middle of parking illegally, though at least not blocking the ambulance bay, when Castiel jolts and says, “Sam.”

“Gabe’s bringing him,” Benny answers. “Get in there. I’ll be along.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do, so he follows his orders. Rushes into the hospital blindly, just in time to see doctors and nurses jogging Dean’s gurney out of an exam room and around a corner. He follows it until he’s physically stopped by a body that’s smaller than his, but used to doing this maneuver dozens of times a day.

“You can’t go in there,” she says.

Dimly, Castiel stares down at the nurse, eyes glued to a streak of blood on her blue scrubs. _That’s Dean’s blood_ , he thinks dully. “He’s my husband,” he says, voice flat.

“There’s a waiting room around the corner,” she points behind the nurse’s station. “The surgeon will come speak with you as soon as possible. Please wait there.”

Another order. Castiel bends to it. Until he reaches the waiting room. There are a handful of first responders in there, huddled together with preemptive, “I’m sorry for you loss” faces that Castiel immediately beelines away from. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere else to go.

A hand touches his arm and he startles. Another nurse with kind eyes is giving him a questioning look.

Voice only a thin strip of gravel, Castiel says, “I beg your pardon. Is there a restroom around here?”

With gentle guidance, the nurse steers him to the bathroom. There’s no one inside when Castiel pushes open the door.

Footsteps heavy, he ignores the stalls and drags himself to the sink, turning on the hot water full blast. An inconsolable, irrational part of him doesn’t want to wash away the blood, but... he doesn’t want to think of it as the last of Dean’s life either, so he shoves his hands under the spray, anklet still clenched tightly in his fist, and he washes. Scours until his hands are raw, skin swollen and almost cracked.

There’s a crash somewhere outside that startles Castiel, shoulders jumping. He slaps the water off and dries his hands quickly, unthinkingly. His hands hurt. That doesn’t matter, either.

The waiting room is blessedly clear when he returns. He must have been in the bathroom for a long time, but he doesn’t care. There’s no doctor approaching him yet. No nurses. He sits, eyes trained unseeingly on the TV mounted to the wall, images flickering that he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t give two shits about. Absently, his thumb strokes over the anklet, broken pieces scraping against the pad of his finger.

“Cas.”

Blearily, Castiel moves his eyes towards the doorway. He’s standing suddenly. “Sam.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so broken.

Sam’s hands reach towards him. “What happened?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t... I don’t know, Sam. It was over when... when I got there.” He hates the way his voice is wobbling, but he’s beyond stopping it. “He wasn’t... he stopped breathing, and his heart...”

Sam makes a loud noise that halts the rambling. His knees buckle, but Castiel is there, hands on his shoulders, guiding him down to the hard plastic chairs in a more controlled fall. “Sam,” he whispers, voice abandoning him in an understandable fury. “Sam.” This he can do. He can handle this. He can focus on this.

Sam’s tears are hot on his shoulder and neck, his best friend buried against him like a grieving child and Castiel holds him closely, tightly.

Sam’s hands spasm and clench hard onto the back of Castiel’s shirt, pulling nearly tight enough to tear. He’s mumbling something over and over, and Castiel only knows it’s the same sentence because the cadence and pattern of the sounds never change.

Right against Sam’s ear, Castiel whispers his own mantra, “it’s not your fault. No, it’s not your fault,” in time to Sam’s agony. Over and over and over like a desperate prayer. It keeps away the brutal rest of the world for a time until Benny is standing over them with an apologetic look on his face that Castiel can barely make out through his blurry eyes. He’s suddenly so very tired. Benny pats them both on the shoulder heavily, and then he takes his seat, artfully ignoring the scene before him.

It goes on and on, but, unfortunately, it also helps. Castiel holds Sam, and Sam clings. Perhaps the grief is best shared. Castiel doesn’t question it, but he does take it in.

He can feel _things_ starting to come back slowly. The ache in his legs from being turned at an awkward angle. Arms throbbing with how tightly he’s holding onto his brother. Throat burning with unshed tears that still refuse to unstick in his throat. Sam’s are enough right now.

The gears begin to turn in his head. All of the mistakes he made over the course of the day spring to mind, sinking him low. He shouldn’t have left Dean. The theater security had been to keep the crowds in line and possibly spot Lucifer. Castiel’s job was to secure Sam and help _Dean_. He hadn’t done that. He’d gone to the penthouse suite and stayed. Sam had been safe, especially with Benny and Gabriel there. _Why had he stayed_?

He should have noticed the emergency exit door by the stage opening. Dean would have responded to it, but the door was behind him. There’s no way he would have noticed it opening out of his sightline. Dean had been doing what he was supposed to do. Castiel had been watching Sam’s panel. _Smiling_ about it. Relaxing. That should never have happened. _Why had he stopped paying attention_?

Why had he ignored protocol? Why hadn’t he responded the second he’d heard those gunshots? Why hadn’t he done what he’d sworn to Dean he’d always do? To be there. To protect him. To help him. To _keep him alive_.

Once the tears start, they refuse to stop. Trying to choke them back only makes them hurt worse, so Castiel stops fighting it. He’d screwed up. He’d let this happen. He’d cost Sam his brother and himself his husband. He’s not sure how he can come back from this. As if he has the right.

Around them, people come and go. Other families, doctors who aren’t treating Dean. A few nurses who can only say, “he’s still in surgery.”

The programs on the TV change several times.

Gabriel has showed up at some point with food that no one eats. He sits in the corner under the TV by the window, staring out into the city without saying a word or so much as attempting to pull Sam away from Castiel.

In his heart of hearts, Castiel is grateful for that.

The only sound that Gabriel makes is a soft, “hey, guys,” when someone enters the room again. By now Sam has cried himself to sleep on Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel has also let his eyes drift closed, focusing only on the blackness as his thumb rubs incessantly over the anklet.

“Dean Winchester’s family?” a female voice asks.

Castiel’s thumb stops moving. He cracks his eyes open. Sam sits up, disentangling himself from Castiel with a groan. “Yeah,” he says, hoarse.

There’s a beautiful woman standing in the doorway, crisp lab coat over a clean pair of blue scrubs. She looks exhausted as she holds her hand out. “Dr. Pamela Barnes. I’m attending Dean.”

Benny shakes first, followed by Gabriel, and then Sam. Castiel can’t bring himself to move, staring hard at the doctor. Her smile is professional and sympathetic, but she doesn’t have the expression of careful resignation for grief. Still, he doesn’t want to jinx it. Gabriel makes all the introductions of names and family ranks for him.

“I’m sorry to have left you waiting so long,” she says first.

Castiel doesn’t care. He lost all concept of time ages ago.

“Dean’s out of surgery and being moved to ICU soon. Once we get him set up in a room, you’re free to see him. You can visit twenty-four hours, but only immediate family. I’m sorry.”

Benny and Gabriel shrug like that’s even a thing she needs to apologize for.

Dr. Barnes nods over her shoulder and begins to lead the group towards the ICU as she speaks. “So, right now, we’ve done what we could for the trauma. Dean’s doing okay. The surgery wasn’t exactly textbook, though it was pretty effective. We’re not sure about any lasting effects of the damage, but over the next couple of days, we can run more tests and get a better picture of--”

“ _Please stop_!” Castiel shouts suddenly.

The doctor does so, pausing right in the middle of the hallway.

“Cas,” Sam admonishes.

Castiel swallows audibly. Now that the tidal wave of emotion has come back to him, it won’t be controlled. It’s this or losing his mind. He holds his hands up. “Please,” he continues much more softly. “Please, doctor. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but _please_. Tell me how bad it is. Tell me all the medical jargon you need. I need to know the details, not the sugarcoating.” He reaches out, clenching and then releasing Dr. Barnes’s arm. “I need to know exactly what happened to my husband.”

“Okay,” she says calmly. “I’m not trying to dumb this down for you, darling, for real. Follow me. You’ll want to take a seat.”

Dutifully, Sam and Castiel follow her no-nonsense gait down the hall to an empty waiting room, Benny and Gabriel hanging back. By some mutual telepathy, they decide to let Sam and Castiel hear the news alone first. Dr. Barnes guides them into the room, shuts the door, and motions for them to sit.

Sam physically pushes Castiel onto the couch, plopping down beside him close. Dr. Barnes pulls over one of the armchairs across from them.

She clasps her hands in her lap. “First of all, Dean is still in critical condition. But he’s young and strong, and I’m optimistic he’ll pull through. He came through his first surgery well. Much better than expected.”

“First surgery?” Castiel echoes weakly.

“Yes,” she nods. “He’s going to need more. You said no sugarcoating, so here it is: best case scenario, we’re looking at possible loss of motor function and neurological damage from the brain injury and oxygen deprivation. And probably amputation of his left foot from the crushing injury if we can’t stimulate the blood flow back to the limb. I need to take a closer look at the scans of the gunshot wound, but considering it was a clean through and through, I’m thinking he at least dodged a bullet there, pardoning the pun. We won’t know the extent of it until we can wake him up and run cognitive and motor function tests. But he’s got a long way to go to get out of the woods just yet. He’s alive, he’s definitely fighting, and that’s reason to be positive.”

Castiel sways and Sam grabs him by the shoulders, steadying him. “I feel like I’m going to be sick,” he mutters.

Sam presses him by the back of the neck, shoving Castiel’s head between his legs.

Dr. Barnes’s voice switches to a lilting, therapeutic timbre. “Deep breaths, Mr. Novak. Deep in and out. Four seconds in, hold... good, seven seconds out. Good job. Again, get as much air in as you can, and force it out completely. You’re doing great.”

Helplessly, Sam gently rubs Castiel’s back while watching Dr. Barnes watching Castiel.

Once he’s able to lift his head again, Dr. Barnes continues. “We’re honestly doing everything we can. Dean is in wonderful hands, if I do say so myself. My team is one of the best in the country. We’ll get him back in his weight class before you know it.”

Doctors shouldn’t make promises like that. But this one has, and she doesn’t look like she’s going to take it back. Castiel thinks she’s perfect to be Dean’s savior.

Dr. Barnes gives them a few more notes about Dean’s condition, then shakes hands again and leaves.

Sam and Castiel sit frozen in place.

Benny and Gabriel slip into the room a few moments later. Benny stands in front of his friends. “You need to go see him,” he says with a razor edge to his kind tone.

Sam’s arms tighten around Castiel, but Castiel hauls then both up. “Please, Sam,” he whispers into his friend’s hair.

Sam doesn’t raise his head, though he allows himself to be led down the hall to Dean’s private room. It’s terribly quiet in the ICU. Far too quiet. Castiel can hear his own racing heart and Sam’s breath in his ear, which for a moment nearly makes the bodyguard dissolve into hysterics because it sounds nothing like Dean, who is the natural one in that same ear.

No, Dean’s breaths are being pumped into him by machines. Steady and so wrong to be heard as a hiss and puff. Nothing more.

“The doc says he’s in a medically-induced coma,” Sam whispers. Castiel hadn’t heard that part. “The swelling in his brain needs to go down before they can wake him up.”

Legs trembling, Castiel lowers himself into the chair next to the bed. He reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s unmoving one. “I think I broke his sternum,” he mumbles. “Probably some of his ribs. During CPR. I felt something crack.” He jerks away from Dean’s fingers, sitting on his hands.

“That means you did what you should have been doing,” Sam says severely. “Cas.”

He doesn’t look up from Dean’s battered, bandaged face.

“ _Castiel_.”

Castiel looks up. He never meant to anger Sam in such a way. “What.”

“Don’t do this. I can’t let you do this. Don’t blame yourself for Dean getting hurt, okay? I seriously can’t handle it right now. I’m about... dude, I’m about to lose my mind here.” He grabs handfuls of his shaggy hair, tugging and releasing before dropping down into the chair on the other side of the bed. He breathes heavily and deeply in time with the beeping on the monitors. “Cas, I need you in this with me.”

“I _am_ in this with you,” he answers tersely.

Sam’s jaw twitches. “You won’t even touch him. Your _husband_. You can’t even hold his hand. You can barely look at him. You’re sitting there, stewing in your own juices, blaming yourself for Dean almost dying.”

“I’m trying not to,” Castiel says honestly. “But I’m having a hard time... focusing... keeping it together. I made mistakes today.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

Eyes blazing, Castiel counters, “not in my line of work. Not in Dean’s. When people like me make mistakes... this is what happens.”

“Stop it,” Sam hisses. “Stop it right the fuck now. I mean it, Cas. We can talk blame and self-flagellation all you want once Dean’s awake and recovering, since you two seem to base your entire relationship off of who can blame themselves more, but I’m not gonna let you do that. I seriously can’t. We’re in the same boat here, Cas, and I need you with me.”

Castiel hangs his head.

Sam sighs out of his nose. “Fine. Listen. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Your job is to protect me, and I need that right now. From this. From being alone in this. Its hurts and I’m scared and I don’t wanna lose either of my brothers.”

Castiel’s head shoots up and he stares at Sam wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam answers petulantly. “Just be here.”

“I will,” Castiel promises, finally able to look down on his husband. “I’ll be here.”

It might be minutes later, it might be hours later, but eventually they settle. Everything starts to settle. The monitors keep up a steady rhythm, recording Dean’s life - he’s _alive_ \- and Sam dozes in his chair. Eventually Castiel stands, wobbly and sore, legs mostly asleep, and he shakes Sam awake, pointing to the long couch under the window.

Sam slumps over to it and falls asleep fully in no time, snoring softly to add to the susurration of quiet activity outside the room that filters in since the doors in the ICU almost always remain open.

Dr. Barnes checks in before her shift ends and softly informs Castiel that she’ll be back the following evening.

Is it morning? Castiel glances out the window. The sun has risen.

Nurses come and go, causing hardly any disturbance at all. They’re professional and understanding.

But Castiel doesn’t sleep. He won’t be moved when Benny comes in with fresh clothes for them and gently suggests that Castiel get some sleep when he meets him in the public waiting room. It’s a crazy thought, and Castiel doesn’t voice it, but he wants to tell Benny that he and Dean are married now. They share everything, so Dean is sleeping enough for the both of them.

Sam wakes up after a while and uses the room’s shower to bathe and change his clothes. He’s not as understanding as Benny when he’s washed up. “You stink and you have blood on your clothes,” he says pointedly.

Castiel can’t argue that, so he doesn’t. He simply shuffles to the bathroom, strips his clothes off, and showers until he feels like he’s about to fall asleep. He’s no better once he’s changed into a pair of sweats and seated at Dean’s side again.

“I’m going to get food, and you’re going to eat,” Sam says, gleaning on to the fact that Castiel will follow almost any order right now.

Castiel nods.

Sam nods too and then stops in the doorway and turns back. “Hey.”

Castiel turns to face him.

“I love you, Cas. Okay?”

Another rush of painful affection surges through Castiel. “I love you, too.”

Sam almost smiles, taps the doorframe, and leaves.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's good news and there's bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling spoiled yet? I'll bet you are with this many chapters so quickly! I don't know if I can keep up this pace, but for the time being, I'm in a writing frenzy. :D

Benny and Gabriel catch up to Sam as he’s leaving the ICU and striding past the general waiting room. They jump out of their chairs and jog to catch up with him. “Where ya going?” Gabriel asks. “Is Dean okay?”

Sam shoots him a look. “No, of course Dean’s _not_ okay. He’s so far from okay, I don’t even know where to start.” Gabriel grabs his arm to halt him, and Sam swings around to face him. “And Cas? Holy _shit_ , Gabe, Cas is a fucking mess. And I’ve barely slept, and I haven’t eaten, and I’m losing my fucking _mind_!”

Gabriel goes up on his toes and gathers Sam in a firm hug, patting his back several times and then rubbing vigorously. He’s woefully ill-equipped for this sort of thing, not having been suited to real comfort ever in his life. Comforting people he cares about it is a pretty damn alien concept to him, because he’s rarely cared about anyone. However, to be with Sam Winchester is to be unselfish, and that’s to be out of character for Gabriel. But hot damn, does the huge actor make him want to try.

“Why the hell am I supposed to be the caretaker?” Sam exclaims.

Gabriel offers a lopsided smile. “You’ve always been the most emotionally stable, Samshine.”

“Bullshit!” But he knows it’s true. He just doesn’t want to say it because it fucking sucks. He doesn’t want this responsibility, but he won’t turn it down. Maybe he’ll be better if he could get sleep. And food. Food? Right. That’s what he was doing. “I’m going to get some food,” he says.

Gabriel sidles up along with him. “I’ll go with. Need to stretch my legs, and you walk fast enough to give me a workout.”

Benny joins wordlessly but with his serene smile like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than carting them all to Publix.

Sam’s almost ready to smile, but more grateful than anything to have Gabriel and his lackadaisical attitude around for a while. It won’t take his mind off of anything, but it sure helps with the brooding.

Sam glances down to where their arms are just barely brushing, and takes Gabriel’s hand. He watches Gabriel’s face as his thin lips ease into a small smile as they step out into the surprisingly cold day.

It’s nice for about three seconds until it’s utter pandemonium.

Something they’d all forgotten in the past day is that Sam Winchester is actually famous, and had a pretty nasty experience in front of a thousand people. Every news channel, entertainment show, and media outlet, plus countless fans, are piled outside the entrance to the hospital, and they break the police line and descend upon Sam the moment they recognize him. Gabriel is helpless to stop it, though he tries by bodily blocking the star from the masses of microphones and digital recorders shoved in their faces. At Benny’s no slouch at it. “No comment!” he yells at them, but Sam takes his arm and shakes his head.

“I’ll briefly answer questions if you would all be kind enough to step away from the doors and stop blocking hospital traffic. There are sick people and grieving families here.” Sam uses his fame along with a boatload of guilt to push the crowd back towards the parking lot. He continues on his way towards the car, his makeshift bodyguards flanking him like Dean and Castiel do to keep anyone from rushing the sides. The cops that can be spared also follow with their hands out, not shy at all about physically moving people out of the way. Sam thinks to himself that before all of this is over, he’s going to buy the entire Atlanta Police Department a shitload of gift baskets.

An intrepid young reporter manages to squeeze in front of the rest. “There’s been a lot of news about a shooting at the _Fairy Tales_ convention held at the Westin this weekend. Do you have a comment on that?”

Gabriel takes his hand again and squeezes once for yes.

Sam grits his teeth. “There was a shooting, and it was awful, yes.”

“Why are you here? Was it someone you know? A cast member?”

Gabriel squeezes his hand twice for no. “I can’t comment on that right now, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know the identity of the shooter?”

“No, I don’t. It wasn’t anyone I knew,” Sam says, shouldering harder past them as they try to gather closer now that he’s talking.

“Were you injured in the attack?”

“I wasn’t,” Sam answers shortly, nodding for Benny to get the car started. Benny jumps forward and wades his way into the driver’s seat, gunning the engine while still in park. It has the effect of scattering some of the people. “Please. I’ll issue a statement when there’s more information, but I’m asking that you please respect my privacy at this time. Thank you.” He dives into the back seat, yanking Gabriel along with him.

It takes a few false starts and scooting forward, but eventually the press allows a line to open so that Benny can get them out of the parking lot and towards a small grocery store nearby. “We should’a planned for that,” Benny says.

“I won’t make that mistake again,” Gabriel assures them. “I’ll contact the hospital’s PR department. Bribe anyone I have to.”

Sam sighs, head knocking back against the headrest. “Shit. I just remembered that there’s a convention and filming to get back to. Gabe, what am I gonna do? I can’t leave Dean.”

“You won’t have to for the moment,” Gabriel says, sounding tired. “I’ve made arrangements. Called everyone. You’re in the clear for the time being. At least this week. I told _Wayward Brothers_ producers that we’ll touch base on Monday to reassess, but it’s actually not a huge deal. Worse comes to worst, they’re willing to move the filming hiatus to make up for the lost time now. It’s not as big of a clusterfuck as it could have been. Plus the entire cast and crew is practically falling all over themselves to help.”

“I’ve never been so glad for a short first season,” Sam says.

“Damn right,” Gabriel agrees. “You won’t have this luxury next season, but we’ll milk it while we’ve got it. If need be, we can send you back to Vancouver with a couple new bodyguards, move Dean to Austin ASAP, and get you back home soon. There’s only two episodes left to film, but you gotta be there when they call you back. I’m sorry”

Benny pipes up with, “maybe we can see what it’d take to move Dean back home to Texas or Vancouver once he’s awake. It’s too far away to keep him here for a long time.”

“I’ll look into it,” Gabriel says. “Charlie’s covering PR right now, but she’s swamped, so you might have to go outside of your job description, Lafitte.”

“No problem,” he drawls. “I owe y’all a lot. I’ll do anything I can.”

“Give him a raise,” Sam says to Gabriel, who laughs.

“That’s Hannah’s job. She’s your new house manager and personal assistant. Mazel Tov. You’ll meet her later when you’re ready., but I think you’ll be impressed. In the meantime, you focus on your brother and let your staff do the rest. Also, I authorized Charlie to cover any information the police need concerning Lucifer until you and Cassie are ready to give your statements.”

“He’s in custody?” Sam asks, feeling the proverbial sun peeking out for the first time.

“Yeah,” Gabriel confirms. “Hell of a car chase. Made national news. Now the APD and the authorities in New Jersey are fighting over who gets to keep him and charge him first.”

“I’m just glad he’s behind bars.”

“Hear hear,” Benny says.

“He’ll pay for what he’s done,” Gabriel promises darkly. “Don’t worry your artfully tousled hair about that.”

Sam sighs deeply, preferring to not delve into that particular wading pool of Gabriel’s grim determination. Instead, he thinks forward. “Two episodes. Sixteen days. Man, we’ll have to get Cas’s head out of his ass before then, or I’ll never be able to focus enough to finish filming.”

Gabriel grimaces out the window. “Leave him to me, Sam. Leave everything to me. I’ll get you everything you need, I promise.”

Sam glances over to him, but Gabriel won’t look back. “You’ve got enough to do.”

Gabriel huffs. “Well, the exclusivity  contract I’m having legal draw up will soon say otherwise, if you agree to sign it.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I... Gabe... that’s a huge risk. I’m not sure I’m worth it yet. I’m not... what if I don’t... Um.”

Benny snorts from the front seat, far too familiar with all of them to even feign deafness to the conversations that happen in his car.

“I’m ready to sink or sail this ship with you,” Gabriel answers. At length, he looks over at Sam. “I’m sick to death of people who aren’t you taking up my time. I’m tired of putting out fires for these starlet pieces of shit who can’t use their fame for anything else besides causing trouble. Maybe... huh.” He puffs out another sigh, blowing his hair out of his face. “I need to stop riding on ‘even bad press is good press.’ I need to do better, and representing you and the good you do? _That’s_ worth doing. You’re worth doing, pun fully intended.”

Sam’s lips pull up into a flickering kind of amusement. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing,” Gabriel assures him. “Any more serious feelings talks and I’ll get hives.” He’s the first one out of the car when Benny pulls into the grocery store parking lot, but he still doesn’t pull away when Sam takes his hand and doesn’t let go the entire trip.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Castiel’s trepidation at being left alone with Dean claws in his chest. The doctor won’t be back until tonight, he has no idea how long Sam will be gone, he’s guilty enough about not doing his job to guard Sam out in public, but he also can’t stand to think of Dean alone in this room, awake or not. So he stays. But there’s still the persistent itch. He’s screwed up enough. He can’t do it anymore. He stands and grabs his cell phone, almost slamming into the nurse entering the room with a rolling cart as he tries to leave.

“Nurse Masters!” he gasps, grabbing for the cart to steady it.

“Easy there, Clarence,” she drawls with her easy smirk. “Where’s the fire?”

He moves back so that she can wheel the cart in next to the bed. “I need to make some calls. Is there a cell phone lounge?”

She approaches the bed and organizes the supplies. “You can use your phone outside in the main waiting room. So, what, you don’t wanna stay for bath time? You can help. I like to watch.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Normally he’d be severely put off by such abrasive and rude behavior, but for some reason, Meg Masters, RN, soothes him. She’s blunt, honest, inappropriate, yes, but entirely competent, and extremely gentle when taking care of Dean. In fact, Castiel believes that she and Dean would probably end up in a seriously entertaining snark war, given different circumstances. “Avail yourself of my husband as you see fit until my return,” he answers dryly.

She drops her gloved hand over her heart. “There’s a reason you’re my favorite part of the day.”

“I won’t be long,” he says, departing the room for the outside lobby.

The first thing he notices is a text from Gabriel assuring him that Sam is fine with him and Benny and they’ll be back soon. That, at least, sets his mind at ease for one item on his mental checklist of anxiety-inducers. Though, he’s actually a little angry at Gabriel’s proficiency with his job. It means that Castiel has no excuse to find himself busy work in order to put off calling Bobby. There is no way to prepare for a long conversation that is sure to go over like a lead balloon. Still, he reasons, the longer he waits, the more he’ll be yelled at. He’s had his fill of yelling in the past twenty-four hours. So he stops dithering and dials.

“Sam called me,” Bobby says instead of hello.

Some of the anxiety loosens in his chest. “Has he told you everything?”

“He sure as shit has,” Bobby answers, surly in his concern. “Told me not to bother flying out there, but I don’t see many reasons to listen to him. I got him snot crying, you sounding like your soul got sucked out your ears, and a son laying half-dead too far away from his friends and family for it to do any of us any good.”

Castiel knows Bobby doesn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t even begin to collect his thoughts for a real conversation until, “he’s not... please don’t say he’s half-dead, Bobby. He’s not.”

There’s a significant pause and then in a strangely tender tone, Bobby says, “you’re really gonna beat yourself up over this, aren’t you? That ain’t how I taught you, Castiel.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Castiel answers, clearing his throat against the waver. “You’re not the boss of me anymore.”

Even Bobby’s laugh sounds too wet. “Yeah, I know, ya damn idjit. So, where’s your head at? Plenty we need to talk about once it’s screwed on right again.”

Castiel runs an agitated hand through his hair and slouches forward in his chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to plan for. There’s too much up in the air right now.”

“Well, what’s on the ground?” Bobby asks, as businesslike as he can be.

“I won’t be leaving Dean, but Sam might have to in order to complete filming the last two episodes on time.”

“How soon?”

“Next weekend at the latest if the production team agrees to move the hiatus week. Probably sooner.”

“That’ll work,” Bobby murmurs thoughtfully.

“Will we be able to find help on such short notice?”

“Actually, yeah,” Bobby says confidently. “Been training up a new guy, and he’s ready for some field experience. I’ll bring ‘em over and we’ll see to Sam until you’re back. If he likes the job, you can keep him until Dean’s back on his feet.”

With another lurch of his empty stomach, Castiel hedges, “about that...”

“Sam told me that, too,” Bobby says severely. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass whether Dean loses his foot or not. Ain’t nothing can hold him back if he sets his mind to it.”

Castiel rubs at his face. “I know, Bobby. I’m not saying he won’t want to get back in the game, or be incapable of it after... well... _after_. But the doctors here are talking about brain damage. Perhaps permanent... complications. I’d like to believe in every silver lining as you do, but... forgive me for saying, you’re not here. If you saw him...”

He can hear scratching on the other end of the line, then silence. Then quietly, “I do trust what you’re saying, kid. But... dammit, I raised those boys after their mom and daddy died. Thinkin’ about one of ‘em like that... Hell, I’d rather not.”

“You and me both,” Castiel sighs.

“In the meantime, you stick with Dean, and I’ll make sure my guy passes muster by next week. Control the things we can...”

“Fuck the rest to fate,” Castiel finishes dutifully with a small smile.

Bobby laughs shortly. “You still got it, Novak.”

“Thanks, Bobby. By the way, who’s your new recruit?”

He can hear the pride in Bobby’s voice when he answers, “Kline. Jack Kline.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

When Castiel returns to the room, Meg has left, but in her stead on the rolling tray table over Dean’s bed is a small basin of warm water, a washcloth, a couple hand towels, travel bottle of shaving cream, disposable razor, and a pink sticky note that says, _don’t deprive me of this man’s jawline, Clarence._

The tiny laugh still feels forced, but he appreciates the levity. Meg’s incredibly good at deflecting grief when needed.

Plus, Dean really does hate it when his beard grows too long. He says it makes his whole face itch.

Carefully, Castiel lowers himself onto the edge of the bed opposite the wires and tubes sustaining his husband, and for the first time since the accident, gets a good look at his face. It’s hard to do. So very hard. His head is bandaged completely, the left side of his face mangled with stitches and scratches. He’ll have scars for sure, though Castiel is fairly certain that Dean won’t mind, and Castiel himself certainly doesn’t. It won’t be so bad once the extensive bruising goes down, he tells himself.

“Oh, Dean, I don’t even know what to say about this. What to feel. If you were awake you’d probably be lecturing me, but Sam gave me a dressing down in your stead.” He wets the washcloth and gingerly pats Dean’s jaw damp. Then he picks up the shaving cream and lathers it on his husband’s face with a feather-light touch of his fingers.

“I’m scared. More than scared. Petrified. There’s... not even a word for it. All this not knowing... I’m not sure how much of it I can handle. But I will. Because it’s you.” He wipes his hands on the towel next to the bowl and picks up the razor.

“The selfish part of me hopes that you’ll recover completely. That you won’t lose your foot. That you won’t have permanent brain damage. That...” he lets out a harsh, wet, humorless laugh as he begins to painstakingly shave Dean’s face. “I pray that some miracle will happen. An impossible magic spell that will pull you back from the brink just as you were.”

He hesitates around the breathing tube, careful not to so much as brush against it, but he won’t. He won’t fail again. His hands are steady as he continues on the right side of Dean’s face, shave, rinse, pat dry, repeat. “I’m trying, Dean. I really am. But... I’ll always blame myself for this. The truth is, we had an SOP set up for just this scenario, and I didn’t follow it. That’s a fact. In times of crisis, no one wants to place blame, but once things calm down... it’s me. We’ll write up the accident report, and the mistakes will be mine, and mine alone.”

He finishes and drops the razor to the table, then picks up the hand towel to wipe away the flecks of shaving cream left behind. With one finger, he strokes down Dean’s cheek and kisses his forehead softly before sliding back into his chair. “Until then... I do love you, Dean. With all my heart. Please wake up soon. Please be all right.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Sam reappears in the middle of an episode of _Judge Judy_ that has Castiel squinting at the TV in confused consternation. He’s windblown and harassed and drops the grocery bags to the small table by the window with more force than necessary.

Castiel mutes the TV, giving his full attention to his best friend, alert. “What happened?”

“Fucking _people_ ,” Sam breathes. “The hospital is crawling with reporters and fans, and it was rush hour in _Atlanta_ , so I think I grew about a million gray hairs trying to get back here. What year is it now?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “But you managed to get food.”

“I did,” Sam answers, collapsing onto the sofa. “Cubans. They better be as good as that New York Times article said they were, or I’m never coming to the South again.” He digs in the bag and fishes out one of the generous sandwiches on French bread and a Coke, and tosses Castiel his.

“You live in Texas,” Castiel points out, anemic humor starting to grow.

“Let me pout, or you’re fired,” Sam shoots back.

“This is what Dean calls ‘hangry,’ isn’t it?”

Sam points at him with the butt of his sandwich. “I swear to God, Cas.”

This small laugh is marginally genuine, and for that and the return of his hunger, Castiel is glad. It’s another step they’re managing to get through together. “My apologies.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam mutters, but the sandwiches are definitely as good as he’d hoped.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

After more tests, and more exams, Dr. Barnes comes back before dinner, flipping through Dean’s file, face pinched. Castiel stands immediately, and Sam drops his feet from the coffee table.

Dr. Barnes looks at both of them in turn, and with a wan smile, asks, “good news or bad news first?” Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but Dr. Barnes’s rushes to add, “and I promise no sugarcoating.” She winks at Castiel.

He rolls his eyes. “That’s fair after I screamed at you.”

“Pretty people get away with a lot,” she sighs dramatically.

“We’ll take the news however you want,” Sam says with a smile like he’s eternally grateful for the humor to soften the bite he knows is about to get them.

Dr. Barnes’s eyes go soft, though. “Well, then, good news first. The swelling in Dean’s brain has gone down significantly in the past day and a half. I’m ready to start waking him up and get him off that ventilator.”

Sam breathes out and Castiel whispers, “thank God.”

“He’s responding to treatment better than I could have hoped. That’s something to be really positive about.”

“That good news is great news,” Sam says.

“I’m glad you think so,” she answers encouragingly. “Now. Ripping the band-aid off here, but his leg isn’t looking so good.”

Castiel and Sam glance at each other like the air has been sucked out of the room.

Sensing this, Dr. Barnes motions for them to sit and they all do. Castiel takes Dean’s hand, but his eyes don’t leave the surgeon. “You think it’s a lost cause.”

She nods slowly. “Trust me when I say I haven’t come to this diagnosis lightly, but I don’t think it’s salvageable. Suffice it to say there was too much damage to repair. The nerves are dying and it’s getting gangrenous. His body can’t handle that, or sepsis. There’s also the risk of clots. Even if we could keep it from becoming infected, it would never function normally again. Crushing injuries are tricky. My professional opinion is that we need to remove the unhealthy part of the foot as soon as possible, fit him with a prosthesis, and get him back on the road.”

Castiel drops his head to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Barnes says, and she really sounds like she means it. “If there was any other way, I’d tell you, I promise. If you need a second opinion, I’d be happy to bring in an orthopedic surgeon.”

“How long do we have to decide?” Castiel asks.

“Tonight, if you can,” Dr. Barnes says. “We can get him into surgery tomorrow morning.”

“Whoa, wait,” Sam protests. “Dean’s not even awake yet! He can’t make that decision.”

With a sympathetic look, Dr. Barnes holds out a stapled stack of forms. “He won’t be able to make medical decisions for himself for some time yet. Depending on the extent of the head trauma and how long it takes him to wake up... you’ll need to sign the release forms. One of you, anyway. Does he have an advance directive?”

Castiel takes the papers since he’s closest, but doesn’t bother to read them yet. He has no idea if Dean has one, but he’s assuming that Sam would be making the decisions, since he’s the closest living relative.

“It’s Cas,” Sam says, and Castiel physically startles at the admission. Sam looks at him quizzically. “Didn’t he tell you? He changed his Will and everything after the wedding.”

“He didn’t tell me,” Castiel says faintly. Of course, the fact that he’d named Dean his executor without telling him, either, hasn’t escaped his notice. Honestly, they really should talk more about the normal things like the future.

Dr. Barnes stands and walks over to the IV. She presses a series of buttons on the machine and adjusts the flow on a couple of the hanging bags. “Okay, well, clearly you both have some stuff to talk about, so I’ll let you get to it. In the meantime, I’m weaning Dean off of the paralytics. He’ll start waking up over the next several hours, so don’t be alarmed if he gets a little twitchy.”

She steps down the side of the bed and begins to secure Dean’s wrists to the rail with leather straps. Neither Sam nor Castiel has the time to react with understandable horror because she explains, “he’ll be disoriented and probably in pain. Don’t want him flailing around and yanking at the breathing tube. It’s for his own safety. Once he’s free of that and more alert, we’ll remove them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, sounding a little green.

She gives them both a professionally warm look. “I know this is a big deal. A life changing event. And believe me, I wouldn’t want the responsibility of making such a huge decision for someone else, either, but in this case, you have to.” She places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I know it’s asking a lot. But you can do this. You both know Dean better than anyone else. You know what decision he’d make given all the information. You know how to proceed. Trust that in good faith.”

Castiel somehow doubts that, but he has to acknowledge it’s probably just as the surgeon is saying. He doesn’t want to make the decision. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what the right one is. He’s just incredibly tired of letting his husband down. Of causing him so much suffering. This is just more to add to the pile. “Sam and I will discuss it and get back to you.”

She pats him and slips Dean’s file back into the shelf at the bottom of the bed. “I’ll be on rounds again in three hours. I’ll also call the orthopedic surgeon up. He can show you the X-rays and MRI. Answer any other questions you might have.”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

Dr. Barnes finishes her exam quickly and efficiently, and then leaves Sam and Castiel to themselves.

“Sam--”

“Sign the forms.” Castiel blinks over at him. Sam is standing, shoulders rounded, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“We should talk about this,” Castiel argues a bit weakly.

“I looked up Dr. Barnes. She’s literally the best trauma surgeon in the country; one of the top in the world. She knows what she’s talking about. I know she’s right. You know she’s right. You’re just worried about how Dean will react. But... he can’t make any decisions right now, and even if he could, he’d probably be too stubborn to save his own life. I’d rather have you do it, anyway.”

“I am worried about it,” he answers, since they’re far past the point of lying and deflection. “But regardless of that, I won’t save my own guilty conscience or the future of my relationship with Dean by throwing aside his health. I’m his...” he swallows and it almost chokes him. “I’m his husband. I promised I’d help make the tough decisions for him in the event he couldn’t, if he wanted me to. As Dean’s executor, he trusts me to. And with your corroboration, I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Good,” Sam says firmly. “If the other surgeon agrees with Dr. Barnes, you sign those forms, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel echoes.

Four hours later after a pointed, if not graphic, description of Dean’s leg injuries, and Dr. Barnes thoroughly walking them through the steps of the amputation procedure, Castiel trembles through signing the release forms, Sam’s large and steady hand on the back of his neck.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs afterwards.

“I need a moment,” Castiel answers. He’s alarmingly unsteady as he leaves the room, and the ICU altogether. He stops in front of the elevators, peering at the directory. He’s looking for the cafeteria, but redirects at the last minute and hits the button for the third floor. He doesn’t need food. He needs peace. Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find it before he loses himself completely.

Hope springs eternal, after all.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up. They learn more about the extent of his injuries.

The hospital’s chapel is small, dark, and non-denominational, save for a small crucifix set against the far wall with a shelf of prayer candles. It’s also empty, which is perfect for Castiel’s needs. He sinks on to one of the benches and lowers his head, still and silent for a very long time. He can’t pray, though. His mind is far too full. So he settles on murmuring, “I don’t know if I did the right thing. If I’m _doing_ the right thing. I haven’t... I’ve never been the type of man to make decisions based on emotion, but Dean... Dean brings it all out in me.”

He wipes at his stinging eyes, though for the moment he’s cried out. The prayer surfaces. “I love him, Father. So much. But I... I can’t be the one to do these things to him. No matter what Sam says, even from an analytical standpoint, I was in the wrong. I caused Dean to be hurt so severely. And I was the one to sign the papers to have surgeons remove his foot. I’m not stupid enough to think that he won’t react extremely poorly to that. I just...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t know what I need.”

“How about some sleep?” a quiet voice asks.

Without turning around, Castiel says, “Sam. How’s Dean?”

“He’s hanging in there.”

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Sam sit beside him. “That’s good.”

“There’s nothing I can say to get you out of this spiral, is there?”

Castiel stares down at the maroon carpet under his feet. “No.”

“So, what? Finding religion is the way to go? I hate to say this, but if the people closest to you can’t help you, a sudden belief in God sure won’t.”

“I’ve always believed in God,” Castiel corrects. “I’ve always been religious.” He turns his head to give Sam a questioning look. “Where do you think I go every Sunday morning?”

Surprised, Sam tips his shoulders up sheepishly. “Dunno. I thought you just went out to run errands or something.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I go to church. I’ve had my disagreements with religion, but I’ve managed to find a community both in Vancouver and Austin that’s accepting of who I am.”

“Oh,” Sam says with an air of curiosity. “I mean... I’m sorry I assumed. I totally don’t think it’s a bad thing, by the way. It’s just... especially in Texas, you’d think... uh...”

“Yes,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “I suppose so. Austin is a bit more forward thinking than a lot of other places, but... yes. I’ve suffered at the hands of organized religion before. Hellfire and sin. Guilt and repentance.”

“I’ve never been into that,” Sam says. “I can’t stand exclusion at the cost of eternal life.”

“Me either. But I do need God,” Castiel says. “I always have. Just... not _that_ God.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel lifts his red eyes up towards the cross. “The church I was a member of as a child was a bit... manipulative. They flew the banner of a congregation of progressives, but keep in mind, in the 80’s, few churches openly praised any sort of diversity. It could have been worse, I suppose. They weren’t openly hateful or harmful, per se. It was more... hate the sin, love the sinner.”

“Ah,” Sam says in understanding. “Love thy neighbor, but still a sinner.”

“Yes,” Castiel says with a wan smile. “It took me well into my teenage years to honestly confront my sexuality because of that. I ignored it until my hormones wouldn’t let me anymore. But I was scared to come out. Even to my parents. I kept wondering, what if they felt the same way? What if they hated the sin but loved the sinner? What if all they did was tolerate my so-called sin? What if they loved me _despite_ being gay? Even if... even if I knew deep in my soul that I couldn’t change it. That I’d been born the way that I am. What if that love became impure?”

Sam reaches out and takes Castiel’s shaking hand in his own, holding tightly, grounding him. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking? From how you’ve talked about them before, I assumed you always had a great relationship with them.”

“My parents were _angels_ ,” Castiel says fiercely. “They were _warriors_. After I sat them down and explained everything - including my fears - they decided we would leave the Catholic church, if it made me feel like I would have to repent my entire life for just being myself. We joined a truly inclusive Episcopal church, and we loved it. My father complained once only. He said, ‘I don’t feel like I’m being watched by God. I feel like I’m being watched by His younger, easier-going brother.’“

Sam laughs despite himself.

Even Castiel chuckles suddenly, surprised by a forgotten memory, wondering how it could have left him. “It became a thing in my family. At dinner every night we would give thanks to God, and His brother, Chuck, for the blessings on our food and family.”

“We should do that to carry on the tradition,” Sam says warmly. “Would you like to do that with us?”

Castiel stares at his guileless, generous best friend. “I would,” he says softly. “Sam, do you believe in God?”

Sam nods. “I guess I do. I mean, I dunno. I never went to church, and my family was never religious. But I don’t think any of us were particularly atheist, either. Struggles seem too pointless without a god, right?”

Castiel’s look turns searching. After a long time, he murmurs, “I suppose they do.”

Leaning back on his hands, Sam says, “then you should keep the faith. Is God telling you anything right now?”

“No, but I don’t think I need that right now. I just need the comfort.”

Sam drapes his arm over Castiel’s shoulder. “Did you get it?”

Castiel leans into his friend. “Yes.”

“Good. Then let’s get back to Dean. He started twitching a few minutes ago like Dr. Barnes said he would. That’s why I came to find you. You should be there when he wakes up for the first time.”

Castiel stands, steeling himself once more. “So should you.”

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean is clearly trying to swim back to consciousness. When Sam and Castiel get to the room, they find that he’s become restless. His eyes move under his eyelids and his facial muscles twitch. His limbs don’t move much, but every now and then he jumps a little like he’s been shocked.

“Do you think he’s in pain?” Sam asks from his side of the bed.

“I would guess that he is with these injuries,” Castiel answers grimly. “He’s on pain medication, but it probably doesn’t do enough.”

Sam takes Dean’s hand gently. “Wish there was something else we could do.”

Castiel takes his husband’s other hand. “I know.”

Both of them barely move a muscle for nearly an hour. They stare at Dean for every single movement and change like he’s the best show on TV. When Dean’s eyes crack open finally, Sam makes an audible gasp and nearly leaps out of his chair, but Castiel holds him back. “Wait,” he says. “I don’t think he’s really quite awake yet.”

He’s right. Dean’s eyes are merely slits, glazed over and unseeing, but Castiel wants to cry again the second he catches sight of green. It feels like it’s been forever. Never mind that it only lasts a minute before Dean’s eyes are rolling back in his head and he’s asleep again.

Sam, of course, isn’t shy about crying. He doesn’t even bother to wipe the tears as he meets Castiel’s gaze over the bed. “That’s great,” he beams with a watery sniffle. “He’s doing great.”

Castiel’s face splits into a grin that almost hurts. Finally, his tears spill over, too. “He’s fighting his way back.”

They keep their vigil up, even as Meg breezes in on her shift. “Y’know,” she says, resting her hip on the doorframe, “they’re remodeling some of the rooms on the seventh floor. Got some wet paint you could watch dry for better entertainment.”

Sam grins up at her. “Not this time. Dean’s waking up!”

Her snarky expression actually eases into a genuine grin. “So I heard. Guess I should do my job and see _how_ awake he is, yeah?”

Castiel eagerly moves out of the way while Meg bustles around checking the bandages, the swelling, blood pressure, temperature. All the normal things. But then she pulls a pen out of her shirt pocket and starts poking at Dean’s fingers, and the toes on his right foot. They jerk and she beams as brightly as Sam. “He’s coming around, all right. Responsiveness is great. Lot more than we’d expect just yet.”

“Jerk’s always been an overachiever,” Sam mutters happily.

Meg gives him a flat look. “Says the super famous one.”

There’s a small, breathy groan and all eyes fly back to the bed. Dean’s blinking rapidly, heart monitor beeping faster as he struggles to consciousness again, but this time with far more determination.

Castiel rubs his husband’s hand encouragingly. “You’re doing great, Dean,” he murmurs.

“You got this, Dean,” Sam whispers.

Dean’s eyes open again, unfocused, but far more clear, and then he jolts.

“Whoa there, good lookin’,” Meg says, reaching out to touch Dean’s arm. “Dean-o, I need you to relax for a second and focus on my voice. Can ya do that for me? One blink for yes, twice for no.”

Painfully slowly, Dean blinks once, though he doesn’t look away from his wavering stare on the ceiling.

Castiel bites back a noisy sob, head hanging over their joined hands, tears streaming down to his chin and dripping onto their entwined fingers.

Meg rubs Dean’s shoulder. “Good boy. I’ll cut the long story short, okay? You’re in the hospital, severely injured from being hit by a car. Your hot little hubby and gargantuan - but still hot - famous brother have been here the whole time. You can’t talk because you’ve got a breathing tube in. It’s on free flow, so you can breathe by yourself. Don’t fight it. You with me so far?”

Another painstaking single blink.

“Groovy. You’re still gonna sleep a lot for the time being because we had you in a medically induced coma. Don’t worry, you’ll be more awake than asleep real soon, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

Dean’s eyes roll again, but instead of conking out, he struggles to move them to the side towards Meg’s voice. They dart around, but Dean’s forehead wrinkles with concentration and he’s finally able to mostly focus on Castiel. His fingers twitch and Castiel gives his hand a light squeeze. “I’m here,” he says, leaning closer. “Welcome back, Dean.”

There’s barely any reaction, but Dean’s eyes seem to sharpen.

Meg makes all her notes on the chart and says, “I’ll go get the doc.”

Castiel nods, but can’t take his eyes off of his husband. It all feels too fragile to so much as breathe too deeply.

And Dr. Barnes is gracious enough to work around them. Dean seems to be wavering in and out every few minutes, stirred only by Dr. Barnes doing things like changing his dressings and poking him for some reason or another.

During one of his more lucid moments, she asks, “are you in pain?”

Dean blinks once.

Dr. Barnes reaches out to one of the machines and presses a button. Less than ten seconds after she does, Dean’s entire body relaxes.

“You’re on the maximum dose of morphine right now. I’ve dialed it to administer doses at the shortest intervals possible, but this is the best I can do for now.”

Dean blinks again, eyes once again falling closed.

Dr. Barnes straightens and contemplates the monitors for a time. “Everything’s looking really good,” she says. “Your man Dean is a real fighter.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “He is.”

“Let’s give it another couple of hours. Chart his wakefulness and then get him off that breathing tube. We’ll have to do it all again when he goes into surgery, but with his condition, I’d rather get him breathing on his own as soon as possible. Don’t want to risk further complications.”

“Like?” Castiel prompts.

“Pneumonia is the biggest risk with intubation.”

“That would suck,” Sam says.

“To say the least. Anyway, I’ll be back after the rest of my rounds, and we’ll see where we’re at. As long as the throat swelling stays down, we should be cooking with gas.”

“Sounds good,” Sam says. “Thanks, doc.”

“My pleasure.”

When she leaves, Sam and Castiel resume their vigil watching Dean and each other in turn. Eventually, Castiel is the one to doze off. He wakes up when Dr. Barnes returns with Meg to remove the breathing tube, replace it with a nasal cannula, and after that, Dean sleeps again.

“He’ll probably sleep for a long time now,” Meg murmurs.

Sam takes her word as law and falls asleep quickly on the couch when Castiel refuses to leave Dean’s immediate vicinity for the time being. But watching his husband breathe easy and regular, eventually lulls him to sleep as well, resting his head on the bed next to Dean’s finally untied arm, and he doesn’t wake during the next round of nurses checking Dean’s vitals, despite the uncomfortable position.

Fingers sifting through the hair on the crown of his head is what finally stirs him again. He blinks and sees Dean looking back at him with the tiniest tilt of his lips. “Hey,” he whispers.

Castiel scrambles up, scooting up the bed until their faces are almost even. “Dean.”

“M... _mph_... missed you.”

Castiel can’t hold back the flood of tears in his eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice. It’s scraped raw, and has no volume whatsoever, but it’s _his_ and it’s _there_. He takes Dean’s hand and kisses his palm a dozen time. Presses it to his wet face. “I’m so sor--”

Dean pulls his hand back slightly and slaps him weakly, more like a pat, and glares. It’s a very clear, _don’t_.

“Sam is of the same opinion,” he says wryly.

“Doc-c-c.” he slurs.

“Dr. Barnes spoke with you?”

Dean nods.

He swallows convulsively. “About tomorrow?”

Another nod and hard, searching stare.

“Sam and I...” he clears his throat. “Sam and I agreed to the surgery. We talked about it.”

“Good,” Dean grunts. “S’f-fine.”

Castiel leans towards him as far as he can go. “How is _any_ of this fine?” he demands severely.

Dean’s head rolls back, and he looks at the ceiling. “D-d-don’t wanna... die. Noth-th-ing but b-b-black when I d-d-d-did.”

Castiel lowers Dean’s hand to his mouth again. He kisses every knuckle. Every finger. The spot where his wedding ring should be, and hopefully will be again once he’s allowed to put it back on. He has nothing to say. There are no words of comfort he has to offer from his muddled mind. No relief. Nothing. He’s still afraid. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs.

“Scared?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Castiel answers, wide-eyed. “Aren’t you?”

The tilt to his lips is back and Dean simply shakes his head.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Dean’s bravado dissolves over the rest of the day. Every time he wakes, though it’s still not for long, he looks more pale and jumpy than the time before. During the overnight hours, Sam demands that Castiel take the couch to sleep for a while, which he does gratefully, not having been able to convince himself to rest without a push. He showers in the small bathroom again, taking more time than strictly necessary, if only to relearn how to breathe properly. He stands in front of the mirror in just his towel and swipes his hand across the mirror to clear the fog. He grimaces at his reflection. He looks eight kinds of awful, showered or not. Rubbing at his chin, he mutters, “for once you look exactly as you feel, Novak.”

He digs in his bag for his electric razor and shaves his graying beard that’s gone as sad and scraggly as the rest of him. He’s never looked good with too much facial hair, anyway. But he does take the time for a close shave since he suspects he won’t be prioritizing personal grooming for some time after tomorrow morning. He brushes his teeth extra long for good measure as well.

Sam is waiting with a fresh pair of clothes to take his own shower when Castiel finally emerges, dressed and fresh, if not refreshed.

Once the door closes behind Sam, Dean waves his husband over.

Hating how heavy his feet feel, Castiel approaches the bed and sits next to him.

Dean reaches up and strokes through Castiel’s damp hair with a sigh, fingers betraying a fine tremor that’s appeared in the last few hours. He brushes down over Castiel’s jaw, thumbing his bottom lip. Castiel kisses his finger. With barely there pressure, Dean urges Castiel forward for a proper kiss, which Castiel aquiessesses to for a short, chaste minute, more scared of his own love for Dean than exacerbating his current injuries.

His love for Dean has become a monstrous thing inside of him. It won’t be sated. It won’t abate. And he’ll do anything to keep it as raw as it is. What he feels for his husband is beautiful and terrifying in its intensity. He’d do anything for Dean, including having his leg removed. Including sitting vigil by his bedside for countless hours. Including making sure that he’s happy at the expense of everything else. Castiel would have taken that bullet for Dean. Castiel would die for Dean and thank God for the privilege. A vicious part of him wishes he’d had the chance to make that call.

But he can’t, so he sits and watches Dean’s expressive eyes trying to convey a hundred things to him before his fight against the morphine wins.

“You won’t speak anymore?” Castiel murmurs.

Dean shakes his head. His lips part, but nothing comes out except for a broken hiss, his throat jumping.

Castiel shushes him and kisses him again because it’s the only thing that’s felt good for too long now. “You don’t have to. It’ll come back.”

Dean’s brow furrows with worry, but eventually he nods. Then he points to the couch.

Castiel glances in its direction. “I hate to sleep when you’re still awake right now.”

Dean huffs and then pokes gently at the bags under Castiel’s eyes.

“I know.”

Dean shoves him, though there’s no force behind it. Castiel takes the hint and moves to the couch. One of the nurses had brought in a pair of pillows and a blanket, so he’s comfortable enough when he curls up that his exhaustion becomes the superior opponent. But he still keeps Dean’s gaze until his eyes won’t stay open anymore. Thankfully, he doesn’t remember his dreams.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

Meg doesn’t bother to be quiet when she enters the room at 7:00 on the dot. “Today’s the big day,” she announces when three pairs of bleary eyes open and focus on her. “Pre-op team’ll be here in a few to get Dean-o set up, and the show starts at ten.”

Dean turns his head away with a barely there grimace that only Castiel seems to catch.

“But first, let me introduce the first person to help you get on with the rest of your life afterwards. Gentlemen and more gentlemen, the lovely, Ms. Lisa Braeden!” She claps like she’s at the Oscars.

A beautiful women dressed in dark blue scrubs enters the room right on cue. She’s smiling brightly, deep brown eyes shining with amusement. “Just so you know, Meg literally ran ahead of me to be able to do that introduction. I’m Lisa, your prosthetist. Nice to meet you.” Instead of letting any of them to come to her, she moves around the room to shake hands. Castiel pulls back his usual chair, beckoning for her to sit.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says politely.

“Thank you. Now, despite how dramatic she was about it, Nurse Masters is correct: I’ll be seeing to your PT and mobility after your surgery, Dean.”

Dean nods, still not meeting her gaze, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Or perhaps expects this reaction. “I’m going to fit you with your prosthesis when it’s time, and teach you how to work with it. I’m also cross-trained as a physical therapist, so I’ll also be overseeing the rest of your recovery process as well. Or, at least until you can return to Texas. At that point, I can refer you to someone else in your area, if you prefer, or you can hire me fulltime.”

Dean nods along, staring at Castiel. In some strange sort of telepathic understanding, Castiel moves over to the bed at the same time that Dean raises his hand to be held.

“Regardless,” she continues, “Dr. Barnes is going to want you to start some basic PT tomorrow, so I’ll be back then, okay?”

Dean nods at Castiel instead of Lisa and his weak grip strengthens minutely.

Sam says, “thank you, Ms. Braeden.”

She beams at him. “No problem! Also, side note, your bulldog of a manager caught up with me in the hallway and demanded I sign an NDA. Which I did, if it eases your mind any.”

“Oh, my God” Sam mutters, humiliated. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs. “I don’t mind. Doctor/patient confidentiality is something that I take seriously, even in reference to family members, but seeing as how you’re a pretty famous family, I’ll take extra precautions.”

“Thank you,” Sam says apologetically.

She stands and shakes hands all around again. Then to Dean, who _still_ belligerently refuses to look at her, she says, “see you on the flipside, Winchester.” Then she’s gone and Dr. Barnes is back with a couple nurses to prep Dean for surgery.

She starts by kindly suggesting that Castiel and Sam avert their eyes to Dean’s mess of a lower leg while she pokes it with a blunt needle to find out where the nerve damage ends and make sure it hasn’t spread from where she’d tested it previously. She also runs some motor skill, reflex, and cognitive tests that make her frown slightly. Castiel and Sam must wear the same expression because Dean starts glaring at all of them.

Still, he can’t really sustain any real ire after being unable to remember what city he’s in, the reason for his trip to Atlanta, or Castiel’s middle name. His stuttering and struggle to think of any complex words add fuel to the anxiety fire burning in both his brother and his husband, though he appears rock solid and ornery, almost unconcerned with any of it.

However, his vitals are strong, and Dr. Barnes declares him fit for surgery. The nurses prep him with new IV bags and hook him up to monitors. Dr. Barnes gestures for Castiel and Sam to follow her out into the hall, ostensibly to get out of their way, but really to speak with the family out of earshot.

Sam starts the conversation. “Dean seems...” but he trails off, not really wanting to be the one to voice a negative opinion so soon after his brother’s woken up.

Dr. Barnes nods, though. “There’s definitely some brain damage from the head trauma. Or oxygen deprivation. Or both.”

“Will he get better?” Castiel demands, not bothering to feel bad about sounding so harsh.

“It’s hard to say,” Dr. Barnes says apologetically. “Really, only time will tell. And I think he’ll have to get over that stubbornness first. I can get you a consult with a speech therapist, and you’re already set with Lisa. The rest could just be up to Dean. I realize it’s not super helpful to tell ya that, but it’s the truth here. Brains are complicated. They all recover differently. But I’ll say this: Dean’s doing awesome so far. He’s awake, he understands what we’re saying, and he’s able to glare daggers at the two of you, I noticed, so that’s a big part of the battle.”

“I understand,” Castiel says.

“So, the surgery doesn’t take too long, but he’ll be a few hours in recovery until he’s back in his room. And the anesthesia will probably keep him out until morning, just so you know. Nothing to worry about.”

Back in the room, the nurses are ready to wheel the bed away.

Dean reaches out again to Castiel and Castiel comes to him immediately. “Take.. a br-br-br-br-break,” he forces out, face twisting in distress at having to fight his own speech.

Castiel kisses Dean’s forehead, then his eyelids, then his frown. “I’ll take Sam out to lunch,” he murmurs.

Dean nods, tilts his chin for one more kiss, and then allows Castiel and Sam to trail behind their small entourage until they reach the surgical ward.

Dr. Barnes pauses while the nurses wheel Dean through the doors. “We’ll call you with updates, but Dean’s right. You should take a break. Get some fresh air. Doctor’s orders, okay?” She winks and Sam touches Castiel’s shoulder to move him away.

“We will. Take good care of him,” Sam says.

“Definitely.”

Then they’re on their own again, food so far from Castiel’s mind, he might as well have promised to take Sam skydiving.

“I’ve already texted Gabe to find us somewhere quiet and relatively secluded, so you can’t back out now,” Sam says pointedly, clearly reading Castiel’s mood. “Benny’s got the car in the staff garage. The press won’t see us leave.”

“I’ve trained us all too well,” Castiel muses, though he follows Sam back down the hallway to the elevators. “Though, I must admit getting out of here even for a short time will do me some good. I hate to leave Dean, but...”

“But there’s nothing you can do,” Sam finishes. “He told you to go, and there’s no point hanging around in an empty room.”

The elevator deposits them right next to the underground parking deck where Gabriel and Benny are already waiting to lead them out.

Gabriel is smiling with relief when he sees them. “You two don’t look nearly as tragic as I was expecting.”

“You don’t, either,” Sam points out as they make their way to the car. “You haven’t been staying here, have you?”

“Nah,” Benny says. “We extended the room at the hotel. It’s close so we can both be on call day or night. We were only here now to meet with some people about transferring Dean back to Texas.”

“How soon?” Sam asks.

“As soon as he’s stable enough to leave the ICU,” Gabriel answers. “He’ll have to stay in whatever hospital we transfer him to for a couple weeks, but better to have him close to home.”

“Agreed,” Castiel says. “Thank you for doing all of this.”

“It’s no problemo,” Gabriel shrugs. “Taking care of you yahoos is taking care of my bottom line, so it’s a win-win.”

Sam lets out a long, loud groan when he sinks into the backseat of the car. “Hey, guys, why don’t we agree to no more shop talk until we’ve had at least a gallon of sweet tea and some real food. Take an actual break, like Dean wanted.”

Gabriel and Benny murmur their agreement, and though Castiel remains silent beside his brother in-law, internally he viciously stomps down on the guilt that tries to surface when he contemplates how much lighter he feels at being able to put the whole mess out of his mind, if only for a few hours.

 _It’ll keep_ , he reminds himself, want to believe the lie that he’s only being pragmatic. His selfishness will also keep. For now.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Lisa! Enter Victor! Enter Cain!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things may or may not be looking up for our friends!

The hospital calls while they’re at the hotel changing their clothes out for clean sets. Dean has come through the surgery well and is being moved out of recovery in the next hour. He’d woken up briefly, but is now resting comfortably, and expected to remain asleep for quite some time. Therefore, Sam and Castiel take their time sorting through everything to pack or send down to the hotel’s laundry, and going over the revised schedule with Gabriel.

“Crowley called,” Gabriel says. “They want you back Wednesday. It’s the best they can do without falling too far behind. They resumed filming today, and are working around it by mixing around the scenes you’re not in, but they gotta have you back.”

“How?” Sam demands. “I can’t just abandon Dean here all by himself!”

“I’ll stay as planned,” Castiel placates, dropping his duffel bag to the floor. “Bobby said he’s willing to cover for me with a guy he’s training. I’ll stay with Dean and travel with him back to Austin.”

Sam frowns deeply. “I don’t like that. I mean, it’s great that he’ll have someone with him, and I know you’ll be an awesome caretaker, but what if there’s another emergency? What if there are complications? Vancouver is too far away for me to get back to him quickly!”

“I understand your concern,” Castiel says patiently, “but you have an obligation. Part of Dean and I being your bodyguards is that situations like this very one always had the possibility of arising. Now that it has, we’re being tested. We have to do our jobs despite the setbacks. Dean wouldn’t want your career or the show to suffer because of him.”

Sam sighs, but he’s wavering. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, but still.”

“Why don’t we discuss this with Dean when he’s more awake?” Castiel suggests. “We still have time before you need to leave. Gabriel, I’m assuming you can see to Sam’s travel arrangements, and Benny, you can escort him until you meet up with Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Benny says. “More than happy to.”

Castiel nods. “Good. All right, that’s settled.” He’s relieved to be feeling more like himself, if only for a short time. He’s in control. He can do this. He can manage. “Sam, would you like to rest here, or return to the hospital? Now that Dean’s surgeries are complete and we are going to be focusing on his recovery, we should probably run in shifts, if he’s amenable. I think we could all use more comfortable sleep and breaks until you leave. We’re all fading.”

Sam chews on his bottom lip. “I’m hating all this practicality.”

Castiel smiles wanly in agreement. “Me, too. But we have to keep ourselves in peak condition for Dean’s sake.”

“I know. Okay, I wanna go back. Stay with Dean until we can talk to him. Tell him what’s up. It’s just... I wanna be the one to do it, y’know?”

Castiel nods once. “Fair enough.”

Benny shoulders Sam’s bag and holds his hand out for the other one as well, but Castiel takes care of his own luggage.

They’re back to the hospital quickly, just as Dean’s finishing up a post-surgical exam from Meg. Castiel stops in the doorway, surprised by how... well, _awful_ his husband looks. He’s unsure if Dean had actually looked this bad before and he’d simply become desensitized to it, or if the surgery really had exacerbated everything further. Dean is pale with dark bruise-purple circles under his eyes, cracked lips set in a thin line. He’s awake, but definitely fighting for it. In serious pain as Meg runs through the recovery schedule with him. So much for him sleeping through the worst of it as the doctors had thought he would.

“We’ll be trying you on some liquids later today, and if you can handle it, we’ll slowly get you back to solid food. PT starts tomorrow, and I know you’re gonna get all eye-rolly on me, but they’re bringing in a counselor, too.”

Dean rolls his eyes as she predicted.

“Suck it up, buttercup. Life changing events usually require head shrinking, so your head shall be shrunk.” She turns. “Oh! Hey, welcome back, eye candies!”

Sam and Castiel step into the room, putting their bags to the side. “Hey,” Sam says. He plops into his usual chair, and his formerly pinched face eases into a teasing smile at his brother. “You look like shit.”

Dean barks a crackling laugh, and the sound shocks Castiel to his core. “Bi-i-i-tch!”

“Not like you just had your foot cut off or anything,” Sam answers breezily.

Castiel’s chest constricts with anxiety.

Dean laughs harder until he’s coughing and clutching his chest with a grimace, though the humor remains in his eyes. “B-b-b-b-been tryin’a l-l-l-l-lose we-weight, anyway.”

Sam laughs for him, and Castiel hates how their levity only makes him vaguely angry and sick. But he doesn’t want to ruin the first light-hearted moment in days, so he pretends to fuss with Dean’s clothes, carefully putting them in the small dresser near the bed. Once he’s in PT and having to move around, he’ll appreciate something other than the butt-bearing hospital gowns. His silent mood thankfully goes unnoticed while Meg banters back and forth with them along with filling Sam in about Dean’s treatment plan. They’re back and forth for a few minutes before Meg draws Castiel’s attention back by saying, “I’ve also brought the transfer release forms. If you pass muster by Wednesday, Life Flight will transport you back home and you’ll be tucked into your preferred hospital for ten days. Sound good?”

Castiel accepts the form with a nod.

Dean muses, “shame. Di-d-d-didn’t get t-to see zom-m-m-mbies.”

Sam chuckles again, and Castiel raises a confused eyebrow.

Meg rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard _that_ one before.”

Sam notices Castiel’s blank look and explains, “ _The Walking Dead_. In season five, some of them end up back in Atlanta holed up here at Grady.”

“Oh,” Castiel feigns interest, though he couldn’t possibly care less.

Meg completes her tasks and says pointedly, “you need to take it easy, okay? You should actually be sleeping, but I realize it’s useless to argue with someone as bullheaded as you. Still.” She points. “Sleep. Those meds you’re on only make you _feel_ invincible, okay?”

Dean nods, but he’s still smiling. His eyes are also indeed starting to droop, though he’s alert enough for the time being for Sam to jump in. “Hey, so get this. Gabe says I need to go back to Vancouver to start filming again on Wednesday.”

Dean blinks back to fuller wakefulness. “So?”

“So?” Sam echoes incredulously. “You’re barely out of surgery, and now I have to leave? I won’t be around to help.”

Dean gestures expansively.

“Dude, I know you’ll be in a hospital with plenty of professionals, okay? It’s irrational, but I want to be near you.”

Dean’s eyes soften. “S’okay,” he mutters. “I got C-C-C-C-C-Cas.”

Castiel hates the way his name gets stuck in Dean’s throat, punched out of him in an ugly staccato, when it used to sound so beautiful. He clears his throat. “Yes, I’m staying.” He and Sam explain the game plan, and Dean seems perfectly fine with all of it, which inspires another strange surge of anger in Castiel that he tamps down. It won’t help. He isn’t helping. He needs to help. He clenches his jaw tightly, allowing Sam to finish telling his brother all about the shifts they’ll be taking between the hospital and hotel until Sam’s departure. Dean agrees to that eagerly as well, noting how tired his family is looking.

Then he hits the wall pretty suddenly, grimacing again as the heavier pain medications begin to wear off. He tries to apologize, but Castiel stops him. “You need your rest,” he murmurs, finally sitting back down next to the bed. “I’ll be here. Sam is taking the first shift at the hotel. We can talk about the rest later.”

Dean nods drowsily, dozing again, and it’s not five minutes before he’s asleep.

Castiel, as ever, watches him. He’s confused, and unreasonably upset about the humor Sam and Dean had found. Worried to the point of impossible fatigue. Self-aware enough to know that blaming himself for every second of Dean’s struggle is counterproductive, as justified as he may or may not be.

His chin has fallen towards his chest, and he’s in that place between sleep and awake when there’s a gentle knock on the door frame. His eyes snap open and he turns in his chair to see a man he’s sure he hasn’t encountered before. He’s dressed in khaki pants, an argyle sweater vest over a light blue button down, and a staff badge is clipped to his belt. He is smiling kindly at Castiel, making the lines around his eyes deepen. Vaguely, Castiel thinks that it’s not just his tired mind that hasn’t been memorizing faces as well the past few days, because he’s certain he would have remembered an attractive man with shoulder-length salt and pepper hair, well-trimmed beard, and thick framed black glasses.

“Hello,” Castiel murmurs, trying not to disturb Dean’s sleep.

“Hello,” the man answers in a friendly rumble, content to stand leaning against the door. “I’m Cain.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“Mr. Winchester’s husband?”

He rubs the grit out of his eyes, turning more fully to face the man. “Yes. As you can see, he’s sleeping. If it’s possible, could you come back later? He needs more rest.”

Cain shakes his head. “I’m not here for him yet. I’m here to speak with you. I was called in from Austin as a special favor. I’m a psychiatrist.”

Of course he is. He fits the stereotype well. “Ah,” is all that Castiel can think of to say.

“I specialize in trauma therapy now, but I started in speech therapy, so I believe that I am equipped to help anyone in your family affected by this event, if you’re amenable.”

“Gabriel called you,” Castiel guesses. “The special favor, I mean.”

Cain beams. “The two of us go way back, it’s true.”

“And you’re probably the best at what you do in the entire United States,” he continues exhaustedly.

“Perhaps,” he answers with humor. “But I’m from Canada, originally. I only got my work visa a few years ago to practice down here.”

Castiel chuckles and it’s not completely forced. “Naturally. Well. Why don’t you come in and have a seat? Dean’s a heavy sleeper even without the anesthesia.”

Cain shoulders off of the door and walks to the window, easing into Sam’s abandoned seat. In the interest of keeping their voices down, Castiel moves himself to the couch.

“You don’t have to speak with me if you’re not comfortable with it,” Cain says straight off.

“I don’t mind,” Castiel answers. “I could probably use someone to talk to. Prayer and self-reflection haven’t done much so far.”

Cain rests his ankle over his knee. “I see. So, I would be the next professional in line?”

“Bronze medal isn’t so bad,” Castiel quips with a weak smile.

Cain grins wider, showing off a line of straight, white teeth. “They’re happier than silver medalists, at any rate.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I appreciate you being open to talking with me. Not a lot of people are. Especially at the beginning when the caretakers think that their suffering doesn’t count compared to their loved ones.”

“It doesn’t,” Castiel says firmly. “I know I’m being unreasonable.”

Cain’s shoulder tips up. “Does it help if I tell you that I don’t think you are?” Castiel rolls his eyes and Cain keeps smiling. “I guess it doesn’t. However, this isn’t the Suffering Olympics, to extend the metaphor. Your mental health and recovery are just as important as Dean’s. You can’t help him if you can’t help yourself.”

Castiel stares at Cain for a moment, considering. Then he sighs. “I’m the reason he’s like this. I think I deserve some self-loathing.”

Cain steeples his hands, looking very much like every TV therapist ever. “So you’re only angry at yourself?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel says moodily. “There’s no one else to be angry at.”

Cain arches a heavy eyebrow. “Of course not,” he says mildly, tone indicating the exact opposite. “But there’s something called ‘projecting’ that has an insidious way of expanding our negative emotions outwards further than they belong. Have you felt any of that?”

“I--” Castiel stops himself. He had wanted to say no, but he’s feeling “negative emotions” right this very minute. They crawl under his skin like bugs. “Yes,” he says finally. “Right now.”

Cain gives him an encouraging nod. “At who?”

“You,” Castiel says succinctly, finally giving in to the rage that keeps trying to bubble up, though his voice remains dangerously calm. “Sam a while ago when he was joking around with Dean. Dean, when he laughed at tried to act like nothing was wrong. Meg for being so competent and snarky. Dr. Barnes for cutting off Dean’s foot. Lucifer for trying to kill my husband. Me for those four minutes of CPR I performed while Dean slipped away in front of me.”

Cain nods. He’s silent for a minute while Castiel sucks in several deep breaths. Finally he asks, “why at me? We’ve only just met.”

“Because you’re being sympathetic to me.”

Sitting straighter like he’s come to an epiphany, he asks, “why is my sympathy bothering you?”

Castiel scratches at his chin. “The same reason you’ve probably heard a million times. Because there’s nothing I’ve done to earn it or deserve it.”

“Why do you feel it needs a prerequisite?”

Castiel slumps in is chair. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about philosophy.”

Cain laughs softly. “Fine. What would you rather talk about?”

Castiel looks around like something on the drab walls or cityscape outside will give him inspiration. “Bees,” he says petulantly.

“Actually,” Cain answers, not to be put off, “I keep bees.” He really is the best at what he does.

“Of course you do,” Castiel snorts.

“Bees are wonderful. Did you know a single bee only makes one twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in its lifetime?”

“Fascinating,” he says flatly.

On and on, Cain smiles. “I highly recommend keeping them, if you’re of the mind.”

“I’m not, I’m just stalling,” Castiel answers. He didn’t think Cain’s grin could get any wider, but it does.

“I know you are. You simply picked a stall tactic that I’m extremely familiar with. Well done.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m not here to force you to talk, Mr. Novak. I’m simply here to listen and perhaps offer support and psychological tools that you may need to cope and recover from this trauma as well. Gabriel may have summoned me here, but I am in this line of work because I genuinely wish to help people. And everyone who loves Dean is affected by this in some way. And all of you equally need, and deserve, healing treatment.”

Castiel searches Cain’s face. He’ll never be as good at reading people at Dean is, but he does recognize platitudes when he hears them. But Cain’s face is completely open and earnest. “Please call me Castiel,” he sighs after a pause.

“Will do. Now. Is there anything you’d like to talk about now?”

“I’m not ready yet,” Castiel admits.

Cain, seeming to have expected that answer, reaches under the neck of his sweater and pulls out a business card from his shirt pocket. “Call me when you are. Anytime. I’ll be helping Dean out as long as he needs.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says sincerely.

“You’re welcome,” Cain says pleasantly.

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

 

In the eight hours between their hospital shifts, Dean doesn’t wake up again. Sam arrives looking much fresher than before and waving away Castiel’s protests, despite their earlier agreement. “I’ll call you if things change,” he promises. “The hotel is six minutes away, remember? You need sleep and more real food. Please.”

On the whole, Castiel is immune to Sam’s pleading looks, but he’s tired, hungry, and weary from being in his own head. “Eight hours,” he says.

“Won’t ask for more,” Sam promises.

Once outside the ICU, Castiel turns his phone back on and is greeted by several texts from Charlie that he can back burner for now, as well as a voicemail from a 404 area code. Local, then. He dials the passcode to his voicemail.

_“This message is for Castiel Novak. I’m Agent Victor Henriksen, FBI, Atlanta field office. I’m the lead on the Pellegrino case. I’ve got a few questions for you, and need to get your and Mr. Dean Winchester’s statements as soon as possible. Call me back, and we’ll work out a time and place. I don’t plan to bother Mr. Winchester until he’s more recovered, but the more I can get now, the faster we can move on it, as I’m sure you understand. Thank you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”_

Castiel immediately clicks the number and dials. It’s answered on the third ring. “Henriksen.”

“Agent Henriksen? This is Castiel Novak. I received your voicemail. I’m sorry for taking so long to call you back.”

“Not a problem,” he answers. “I figured I might have to wait a while.”

“I’m free right now, so I can stop by and meet you, if you have the time.”

“I’m free,” he confirms. “I’ll text you the address. I’m working closely with the local PD right now, so I’m holed up at a precinct nearby Grady.”

Castiel checks and confirms the address texted to him. “I’ll be there soon.”

Victor thanks him, and Castiel schedules a Lyft rather than bother Benny or Gabriel. They’re covering Sam, anyway. However, he does double back to the waiting room outside to pass along the precinct’s address, Victor’s name, and strict orders to make sure that Sam has everything he needs.

Twenty minutes later he’s shaking hands with the FBI agent. “Nice to meet you,” Henriksen says, motioning Castiel to follow him to his makeshift office out of the way of the bullpen.

“Same,” Castiel answers. “If you don’t mind my asking, why is the FBI involved in the case? My team did some research of their own, but Lucifer’s rap sheet didn’t have anything that would warrant federal involvement.” He takes the seat offered as well as a fresh cup of coffee.

“The felony charges are piling up,” Henriksen says, sitting behind his desk and pushing around his files until he finds Lucifer’s profile. “Attempted murder was good enough to push it over the edge. Plus, the fight over jurisdiction actually helped make this a federal case, since his felonies crossed state lines.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel queries, opening the file to scan it. “Has Lucifer done anything like this before? When Dean profiled him we were under the impression that he hasn’t gone this far. There wasn’t anything in his record.”

“Winchester is sharp, but I think he dismissed Lucifer’s brother too quickly.”

Castiel searches for the name in his memory. “Michael? Why?”

Victor leans his elbows on the desk. “Because we went and had a chat with Michael recently, and he flipped on his brother. There was another actor about eight years ago, just like Sam, really. Michael was arrested for stalking, B&E, and assault. But he wasn’t the man under the mask. It was Lucifer, and Michael had enough of a story to check out, that if he’s being honest, we can charge Lucifer. Turns out, Michael isn’t too happy to take the fall again when we hinted that Lucifer would probably get a lighter sentence for this.”

“Why would Michael take the fall for his brother in the first place?”

Victor shrugs. “We don’t know that, yet. But we’re still questioning him, and you can be damn sure we’ll find out. If he’s innocent, he’ll walk, but my gut says he’s as culpable as his brother.”

Castiel’s simmering anger flares again. “Lucifer doesn’t deserve any sort of lighter sentence. That can’t happen.”

Victor waves his hand, like he’s brushing away the ire. “Shit, no. Lucifer Pellegrino tried to kill a cop, and former federal agent. I mean to see him locked up for as much of his life as the law lets me take.” He flashes a quick grin. “Bobby Singer’d have my ass if I did any less.”

Castiel smiles too. “It’s there anyone he doesn’t know?”

“He’s a legend in the FBI,” Victor confirms.

“We can’t let him or anyone else down.”

“Then let’s get to work.”

Victor runs through his interview like a pro. He’s organized, efficient, smart, and thorough. He begins by asking about Castiel’s relationship to Dean, both professional and personal, though he doesn’t press for details on the latter any further than trying to feel out whether Castiel is too close to the situation to be useful. He’s not. It’s personal, yes, but Castiel also recognizes that keeping Lucifer in jail is much more critical than the desire for revenge.

Victor must like what he hears, because by the time they’re done, Victor has said he’ll review the case some more and interview Dean once it’s feasible. By the time he leaves the precinct, Castiel only has enough time to order room service back at the hotel and take a short nap. But it’s enough. He hasn’t got the hang of staying away from the hospital without itching.

Therefore, he shows up to the ICU with a large cup of coffee to find Dean red faced and cursing a blue streak.

“S-s-sonnnnofab-bitch! Fuck-k-k-king piece’a sh-sh-sh-shit!”

“Yeah, those hand weights hate you, too, champ!” Lisa says brightly.

“Hurts!”

“It surely does.”

“F-fuck of-f-f-f.”

“Me or your arms?”

“Both.”

Lisa’s laugh is clear, unguarded. “You’re doing great, and no, I’m not being patronizing.”

Castiel pokes his head in, watching Lisa standing by the bed, hands on her hips, watching Dean, who is actually sitting up completely, holding a pair of light hand weights, arms straining parallel to the bed. He’s shaking terribly and sweating. Sam is perched on the couch, watching the goings-on with great amusement and absolutely no concern.

“Cas!” Dean gasps shooting him a wild-eyed pleading look. “M-m-make her st-st-op!”

Castiel sips his coffee. “She seems fairly adept at torture. I wouldn’t want to cross her lest her ill tidings befall me.”

Sam snorts and Dean gives him the most incredulous stare ever. “Mean!”

Lisa grins. “He was a good distraction, though. That’s a minute. You’re done.”

Dean’s arms drop to the bed like they’re lead.

Lisa twirls her finger. “‘Kay. Turn. Dangle those legs over the bed.”

Dean scowls. “No.”

“Yes,” Lisa says just as stubbornly. “Five leg lifts and then our deal will be complete.”

Castiel arches a questioning eyebrow.

“She said she’d buy him the best pecan pie in the United States,” Sam supplies.

Castiel levels Dean with an accusing look. “You made your physical therapist resort to _bribery_?”

“Fuck you,” Dean says with feeling.

Sam doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Don’t even pretend it’s out of character for him.”

“It’s not,” Castiel confirms. “I apologize for my husband,” he tells Lisa.

She flicks her wrist in a dismissive gesture. “Dean here’s playing the tough guy, but I’ve had worse, I promise. Five, Dean. Stop procrastinating.”

Castiel does his best not to crush his coffee cup when his hands spasm as Lisa helps Dean get his leg out of traction so that he can turn sideways. He plants his palms on either side of his thighs and breathes deeply several times, head hanging. Lisa says nothing, and neither does Sam. Castiel remains in the doorway.

Dean’s head comes up and he pins Castiel with an intense stare, eyes dark, lips pressed into a thin line, strain etched into every bit of his face that’s not covered by bandages.

Castiel is pinned by it. His heart thuds. He swallows hard. Dean keeps staring. In a teasing tone that could only have been the work of one of God’s miracles itself, Castiel quips, “if you make me miss the best pecan pie in the USA, I’ll never forgive you.”

Dean barks a pained laughed. “Asshole.”

Castiel arches a stern eyebrow.

Dean does the leg lifts. All five of them. And he looks like he’s about to keel over when he finishes, but instinctively, Castiel is there, holding him up as his husband’s weight falls onto him and he gasps both in pain and in deliverance. “You’re doing amazing, Dean,” Castiel whispers into his ear so that no one else overhears. “You’re so good.” He pets at his husband’s hair. “Good boy.”

Sagging against him more fully, Dean kisses the side of his neck. “Lov-v-e ya.”

“You’ve earned your keep,” Lisa says cheerfully.

“Earned p-p-p-pie,” Dean mumbles, still clinging to Castiel.

“You’ll understand when you eat it,” she says.

Castiel pushes Dean back just enough to be able to cup his face. “Are you allowed to be eating solid food yet?”

Dean huffs.

“He is,” Sam says. “He ate chicken and rice soup for lunch.”

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Lisa says, “but I got overruled by Dr. Barnes. Nothing fancier for your first meal. But since you handled it well, she can’t stop me from bringing you bribes.”

Carefully, Castiel helps Dean lay back on the bed and adjust the incline so that he’s still mostly sitting up. “Better?” he murmurs.

Dean nods, falling back against the pillow. Lisa moves to help arrange the IV lines and the oxygen pump, but Castiel shakes his head slightly and she backs off immediately. Dean watches him closely the whole time as he makes sure none of the lines have been kinked, and gently slips the cannula under Dean’s nose, tucking the tubes behind his ears. Dean doesn’t say anything the whole time, but he’s looking at his husband with a calculating expression that Castiel steadfastly ignores.

Lisa runs through a list of cool down and small stretch exercises to practice daily, and then excuses herself. Castiel follows her out.

“Excuse me, Lisa?”

She turns, beaming at him. “Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you... for being so patient with Dean.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t patient at all. If I gave an inch, he’d take a mile.”

He scratches his chin. “You’re not wrong. I guess I mean, thank you for figuring him out so quickly. When he gets angry, he either gets stubborn, or does too much. I’m not trying to infantilize him, or anything...” he trails off, unable to accurately express his thoughts.

However, Lisa seems to get it by the way her face eases into sympathetic understanding. “Stubborn people who are used to pulling themselves up by their bootstraps have a hard time asking for help. Dean’s not unique in that sense. It’s just that you have to find the right approach. It’s not really tricks and bribery, it’s keeping him in charge of his own recovery. I won’t hold his hand since that’d make him balk. I’ve been doing this long enough that I know how to work _with_ people like him, not for. Regaining bodily agency is sometimes the most frustrating part.”

“Yes, and you’re very good at it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She squeezes his arm and releases him. “I’ll stick with him until he’s ready to fly the coop.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says sincerely.

She gives him a lazy salute as she walks away. “It’s my pleasure. See you tomorrow. I’ll bring the pie.”

 

 

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

 

After Sam leaves his shift, and the nurses have done their checks for the evening, Castiel sits on the couch, sprawled out, half-watching the TV as Dean flips channels. He can’t decide whether the silence is uncomfortable or not.

Dean turns the TV off with a noisy sigh.

Uncomfortable, then.

“C’mere,” Dean mumbles, slurred with exhaustion and medication.

Castiel stands and approaches the bed. “Do you need something, Dean?”

Dean scoffs and flips the edge of the bedsheet up. “C’mere,” he repeats.

He wants to. Oh, but does he ever want to. The hesitation is brutal. “Is that wise? What if I--”

“In,” Dean demands.

Castiel slips off his shoes and carefully slides onto the bed on Dean’s uninjured side. He’s out of the way of the tubes and wires, so he shouldn’t disturb anything important if he stays still.

And thankfully Dean doesn’t move much except to put their shoulders together and take Castiel’s hand. He thumbs over the wedding ring. “M-m-mine’s gone,” he says.

“Oh! No, it’s...” Castiel leans over to the night stand and opens the top drawer to extract a small zipper bag. “They took it off you since you couldn’t wear jewelry during surgery or imaging, but it’s here.”

Dean holds his shaking hand up. Castiel opens the bag and digs out the wedding ring. He slips it back onto Dean’s finger. Back where it belongs. Dean smiles. Castiel smiles back.

It’s not uncomfortable anymore, at least for now. Dean puts his head back down on the pillow. Castiel lays beside him. Dean turns the TV back on, and they both fall asleep to the late show.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip back home goes smoothly. The transition does not. Jack does his best to help.

Dean needs to be sedated for the medical transport back to Texas. He wakes up on the day of their departure surly and in significant pain, but they've weaned him off of everything they can to make the trip easier for the medical staff escorting him, thus the suggestion of a sleep aid.

"Dean, you're making this harder than it has to be," Castiel sighs.

"B-b-b-bit-t-t-te m-me," Dean barks. "B-b-ody's on fire, a-a-a-and now there's a p-p-p-lane involv-v-v-v-ved."

Castiel finishes tying his shoes then comes to sit on the bed. Dean's twitchy again, shaking with pain, stuttering harder than usual. "There's still time for the sedative."

Dean's mouth turns down. "Slept en-n-n-nough."

Rubbing Dean's arm soothingly, Castiel says, "it's a much lighter sedation. You'll be awake by the time we arrive at St. David's. Dean, this stress on your body and your mind is too much. It's just this last step. Things will get so much better once we're back home."

Instead of saying anything, Dean simply glares. 

That's a no-go, then. Castiel remembers a time not too long ago when he could make a reasonable suggestion, and Dean would acquiesce. Trust him enough to know that he's doing the best for the both of them. But these days? It's fighting tooth and nail, even worse than they'd done before they'd started taking each other's clothes off.

"Meg's coming to assist in the transfer," Castiel blurts in a last ditch effort. "You'll be in an enclosed space with her. For more than two hours." He'd like to try and convince himself that he's being completely selfless here, but he can't and he won't. He's done lying to protect himself from the truth. He's not sure what _he_ will do in an enclosed space for a few hours with Dean. He's ashamed that he's not comfortable around his husband right now, but it's the nature of the beast. He doesn't know how to treat the man anymore. The things he thinks are right, are now wrong. Dean is volatile, and the last thing he needs is for a well-meaning attempt at help to backfire spectacularly. What worries him more is that Dean is incredibly good at reading him, and he doesn't want Dean to think that Castiel's recalcitrance is because of him. It's not, totally. There's just too much going on with too little time to fully process.

But Dean surprises him by backing down after a minute. "Fine. C-c-an't st-st-st-stand the pain."

Castiel risks himself and reaches over to stroke Dean's cheek lightly. "It'll get better."

Dean leans into the touch for a moment and closes his eyes. And he allows the nurses to sedate him for the journey home.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Once back to Texas, Meg is actually damn near a saint helping get Dean checked in and settled in the rehabilitation ward. She reports that Lisa and Cain will be on site the following day, so all Dean needs to do is keep resting due the time being.

Which he does begrudgingly. He's starting to get antsy, now that his head is clearer. He complains about the stitches itching. He complains about the shitty options on the TV. He complains about his healing body hurting worse than when he was at his most injured. He complains about the therapy and the medications and the fact that his brain won't connect to his mouth properly, though the more sleep he gets and the more he heals, the better his speech becomes. Cain has been charting it during his speech therapy sessions, and there's been a steady, but small, improvement.

The only time that he doesn't complain is in the overnight hours when the nurses have ceased their checks for the night, and the ward is quiet, and the lights are dim, and Castiel finally agrees to get into the bed with him to sleep. Gabriel had obviously pulled a lot of strings, because Dean is set up in a private room again, and even has a hospital bed that sleeps two, so Castiel doesn't have to suffer on the couch. 

They hold hands and watch cheesy movies. Dean doesn't like to talk during the night because he's tired and his stutter gets more pronounced when he's exhausted.

It's not the worst situation, and Castiel is becoming accustomed to the routine. Resigned to it.

Then Dean is given the green light to check out of the hospital ten days later and return home.

It's that very night when Castiel is close to sleep, Dean's fingers still with a fine tremor from the head injury, sifting through his hair. He says, clear as a bell without even a hint of a stutter, "I love you, Cas."

Castiel startles awake like he's been slapped. He covers his eyes with both hands and cries until he falls asleep, Dean saying nothing else, but his hands never stop their caress.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

The first day home isn't so bad. Dean and Castiel have the house to themselves, though Hannah, the new house manager, is unobtrusively around. She has seen to upturning their former upstairs bedroom, and moved it into the never-used downstairs spare room, _exactly_ as it had been when they'd left. Castiel, for one, marvels at it. There's not a single thing out of place. Even their framed wedding photos are arranged just so on the dresser.

Dean actually smiles slightly, peering around. "Sh-she saw ev-v-rything-g-g, man. We paying-g-g-g her enough?"

Castiel laughs short and loud. "Yes, I believe we are to keep her professionally discreet."

Dean chuckles, too, the sound shivering out of him, but it's better than the growling alternative that's plagued their last week in the hospital. But then he peeks into the bathroom and sees all of the rails and accessibility features that Castiel had ordered installed in their absence. His expression darkens immediately and Castiel suppresses a sigh and the uncharitable thought that Dean's good mood had been nice while it lasted for all of ten seconds. He's testy enough being in a wheelchair while he and Lisa work out the logistics of his prosthesis, and the constant reminder of his disability all over his safe space is just another swift kick to his bruised psyche. 

For the time being, Castiel does as Cain had suggested, and resists pointing out the benefits of the changes. Drawing any attention to them only fuels Dean's fire presently, and Cain advised letting him have his head while he gets used to it. Now that he's off sedation, he has time to process, and there's a lot of grieving to do that he's well behind on. 

Anger is normal.

Castiel keeps telling himself that.

Cain says that Dean is making progress. When Castiel inquires, he shrugs and says that, the most he's allowed to reveal is that Dean didn't swear once during their last session. But they'd spent the time playing poker instead of talking, Castiel later finds out from one of Dean's offhanded comments.

Castiel has to massage his jaw against the cramp he gets from clenching it so tightly.

And being home again for good, Dean's not sure what to take issue with first. He drinks a lot of it in by silently glaring and leaving the room in his hot rod wheelchair. His first vocal protest is when Sam slams through the front door several days earlier than planned. 

Happily unaware of the growing friction, he informs them, "my character got put into a coma on the season finale! I didn't need to be there for the last few days of filming!"

"Nice," Dean growls.

But Sam keeps grinning and hugs his brother then Castiel. "It's good to be home!" he chirps.

"It's good to have you back," Castiel says sincerely, holding Sam's embrace slightly longer than normal and patting his back. It's entirely possible he might be a little touch starved.

Dean scowls harder and turns his wheelchair around, grumbling about the hugging, too, and then gripes, "the hell is all that noise?"

There's more tromping and voices from the hallway, and then Gabriel, Charlie, Benny, Bobby, and... New Guy are all appearing in the living room before Dean can make his escape to the downstairs guest room that's been converted for him, which he's also started using his words to complain about. A lot.

The crowd pours to Dean first, welcoming him back like a conquering hero. None of them react at all to his icy return of their warmth.

Castiel greets them all in turn, eyes widening when Bobby introduces the clean-cut, smiling new kid as Jack Kline.

"Bobby's protege," Castiel recalls, shaking his hand firmly. He'd forgotten over the past few days about Bobby bringing him a new partner for a while.

"Yes," he says cheerfully. "I'm Jack." He raises his hand to Dean in a youthful salute. "Hello!"

Dean's eyes narrow. "Your parents know you're out so close to bedtime?"

Unperturbed, Jack answers, "It's three thirty, and I don't have any parents. But thanks. Bobby's been great training me so far!"

Beaming, Sam throws an arm around Jack's shoulders. "He's done an awesome job the past couple weeks. I think you guys'll do just fine."

Castiel, being the only one with his attention diverted from Jack, can see Dean's jaw twitching with coiled tension, but he doesn't move to comfort his husband because lately he knows he'll just be shrugged off. Or worse. The transition is hard enough as it is. He can't imagine how Dean feels with some peppy upstart trying to take his job, regardless of how temporary it all is. He won't see it that way in his state of mind.

Bobby gives Dean a bit of a glower, but then says, "I think the kid's done good enough to be put in your care, Cas."

That does surprise him. "Mine? I mean, I'm not opposed, of course, but filming is over and I'm under the impression that Sam won't be leaving home for a while."

"Nope!" Sam agrees. "Gonna hang with by big brother, finally."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"That's good," Bobby says. "You can show Jack here the ropes. Get him set up here, train him for how you do things. Crack the books and research. You know."

Jack smiles guilelessly. "Bobby says I'm at your disposal as long as you need."

Wordlessly, Dean wheels himself out of the room. Sam starts to follow, but Castiel catches his arm with a slight shake of his head.

"What's up with him?" Sam demands. "He's being rude."

Castiel says, "he's had a tough few days finally being home and having to adjust to further mobility. I'll speak with him, but for now, you should all get settled in. Jack, we have a spare room on the third floor that you can use. Sam will show you." His tone brooks no argument, and everyone shrugs, mumbles, and takes their suitcases to their rooms. Sam gives Castiel a suspicious look, but goes with his demands for now. He trusts Castiel to handle this.

Castiel goes down the hall to the spare room and knocks. He doesn't need to look for Dean. He knows where he is. Where he always is. Dean doesn't answer, but Castiel pushes open the door anyway.

Dean has hauled himself onto the bed and is sitting on top of the comforter, leg propped up on a throw pillow, moodily channel surfing one by one through five hundred choices. "D-d-don't wa-wa-wanna h-hear it," he says.

"I know you don't," Castiel says, "but you need to. This isn't forever, Dean. That's the first thing. You need to understand that." 

Dean snorts.

Castiel presses on. "I can't guard Sam on my own. Bobby can't stay here forever. We both knew from the start that this was what would happen, should the worst case scenario come to fruition."

Throat working in a jumping swallow, Dean bites, "n-n-n-no shit-t-t-t."

"You need to accept it!" Castiel insists with a sharp edge to his words. Raising his voice isn't the right option, he tries to remind himself. Dean is proud and stubborn. He doesn't answer to hostility, even when it's the last option. Or he _does_ , just with further hostility. Counterproductive, but Castiel is tired and frustrated and hurting, too. So he says, "Dean, you can't ignore this, because it's not going to go away. It's _never_ going to go away. What happened to you... the things that..." he cringes when he nearly chokes on a swallow, but even Dean's warning look isn't doing anything to quell the rising tide.

He faces his husband squarely. "None of this is right, and none of this is fair, but I can't help you if you won't even _try_ to help yourself." He drops his head into his hands, tugging at his hair. "I _know_ this is my fault. Everything you're going through is -- but, Dean, it _happened_! It's reality!"

He looks up again, rather glad to see Dean's fury because at least it's _something_ other than the passive-aggressive muttering that's punctuated the last couple of weeks. "You're injured. It's a long recovery. You might never be... _something_. But I don't know what to do! We got home, and you decided to fight everything and everyone along the way. Cain says you won't talk. Lisa says you've rejected every limb you've tried. Sam says you didn't even text him once! And now!" He laughs wetly, humorlessly. Throws his arms out to the sides. "It's like you _want_ to stay angry! Want to push us all away! Want us all to go on and replace all the spots you've filled!"

Dean's hands clench in the sheets. "Yo-u-u-u-u don't kno-w-w-w _shit_!" he bites. "Th-th-is is hard f-f-f-f-f-or _you_? Fuck y-y-you, C-c-c-c-cas."

The irrational anger spikes. Boils over. The lid was never going to stay on, anyway. In cold, seeping horror, he hears himself shouting, "the man I married wasn't like this! _He_ wouldn't act like he doesn't want to be saved!"

Everything seems to go deathly silent, save for his wristwatch that he can hear ticking on his wrist.

Slowly, Dean raises a tremulous hand. He curls his fingers painstakingly until he's pointing at the door. "Get. Out."

The clear, concise command is a spike in his chest, but it's also a demand, and Castiel can't undo what he's just ruined, so he back steps until he hits the door. Grabs for the knob. Swings it open, and slams it in his wake.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Cain is actually moved to look at Castiel warily when he arrives at his private office for their next appointment. "You're looking less like yourself than usual," he says, gesturing for Castiel to take a seat on the plush sofa. He does and Cain also gives him a cup of tea with his homemade honey.

"That's accurate," Castiel answers.

Cain sits in his leather office chair, sipping his own cup of tea with a mildly concerned look. 

"I yelled at Dean the other day," Castiel says. 

Cain smiles. "Now we're getting somewhere with you two."

Castiel shakes his head, squeezing the warmth out of his mug. "It wasn't the productive kind of yelling."

Cain's smile fades. "What happened?" he asks kindly. 

Staring into the depths of the steaming tea, Castiel says, "I said some things I shouldn't have and then Dean kicked me out. He won't talk to me at all anymore."

"How long?"

"So far?" Castiel says with a bitter twist of his lips. "Three days and twelve hours."

"But you're not counting," Cain quips with a hint of humor. 

"It's an estimate," Castiel answers defensively. 

Over the rim of his glasses, Cain counters, "with the way you fixate, I believe you could quote it down to the second if I asked."

"That would be irrational," Castiel mutters.

"The human condition is prone to that."

Castiel sighs. "He won't even let me apologize to him. If he'd just let me... I'm sure we could work through it."

"What would you say to him if you could apologize?" Cain asks.

"I'd say..." He lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip. It's excellent tea. "I'd say I was sorry for what I said. That I didn't mean it. That I'd do anything to make it right. That I only want to help him." He shrugs helplessly. "Lots of things."

Cain tilts his head from side to side. "And you think he'd take that and be fine with it?"

Castiel squints. "Dean might be stubborn, but he responds to sincerity."

"I'm sure he does," Cain agrees. "But how does he respond to selfishness?"

Immediately on the defensive, Castiel demands, "apologizing isn't selfish. I'm sincerely trying to make things better, and make up for what I've done."

A heavy eyebrow lifts in silent response.

"What?" Castiel snaps.

"How will you make things better by using all those 'I' and 'me' words?"

Castiel rolls his eyes, as he often finds himself doing in Cain's presence. "That's semantics."

"No, it's not," Cain argues. "You're apologizing for yourself there. For the things that you want and not the things that Dean needs. Yes, you screwed up, but in the end, an apology isn't about you. The primary goal in it can't be to make you feel better. It should be to help heal the wounds you've caused."

"How do I do that?" Castiel asks, worn down.

Cain shrugs. "Realize that it's not about you. It's about what you did."

"Thanks for making it sound incredibly easy," Castiel mutters.

"Try again," Cain says dryly.

With a sigh, Castiel relents. "I need to apologize for hurting him. Understand that he needs help, sometimes on his terms, not mine. Be there when he needs me, and back off when he requires space."

"That's a start," Cain says. "I would also suggest allowing him his anger for the time being, as long as it doesn't become self-destructive. He hasn't actually been dealing with this for as long as you have, so he's behind on the stages of grief. He's just staring with anger."

Castiel's eyes widen. He hadn't thought of that in this scenario. Dean had been under sedation and medications keeping him sheltered from the cold reality for weeks. He's still on heavy duty pain medication at home, but nothing as strong as he had been in the hospital. He's trying to get back to a normal sleep schedule, and weaning off of most things. He hasn't been so clear-headed as he is now for three weeks. Castiel has, though. He hangs his head in shame. "I'm such an idiot."

"No," Cain says gently. "You're just at the end of your rope. It's understandable."

Clearing his throat, Castiel murmurs, "what if... well, what if I can't fix it?"

"You can't," Cain answers immediately. "You _and_ Dean can. Castiel, in a few weeks, I'd like to have both you and Dean in for a joint session, if you and he are amenable?"

"Yes, of course," Castiel agrees. "Anything at all that will help."

He beams. "Good. You've made a lot of progress the last few weeks. You've made progress today. There's reason for hope, and you should be proud of yourself. It's true that you won't always make the right decisions. In fact, you might just end up one step forward and two steps back sometimes. That's how we operate. It's how we deal with the adversity that matters most."

With a small snort, Castiel asks, "do you think Dean will see it that way?"

Cain snorts back. "That's up to his stubborn ass, isn't it?"

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

As it turns out, Dean doesn't want to speak to Castiel in the slightest. The freeze out continues, and it gets to the point where it's so obvious that Sam notices and reacts with typical, hangdog concern for his brother, and thinly veiled hostility towards his best friend.

"What did you do?" he accuses over breakfast that Dean refuses to attend while Castiel is in the room. 

Castiel pours himself a cup of coffee, trying not to snap, but he hasn't slept well in days, and it's _really_ early in the morning. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbles. "It's very early, Sam."

"That's why I'm asking you now," he says moodily. "Your brain won't be functioning enough to come up with a bunch of elaborate lies."

"Point."

Sam leans his hip against the counter so it's unavoidable that Castiel look at him. "Why haven't you and Dean been on speaking terms? Or sharing a room? I've noticed you sleeping upstairs again. What's the deal? What happened?"

With a groan, Castiel ads a generous amount of sugar and cream to his mug. "Dean and I fought." Sam's eyes widen and that makes Castiel deflate. "No, that's a lie. He got defensive and I yelled at him, and he kicked me out. It's my fault, but I'm fixing it."

"How?" Sam asks. "Sleeping in separate rooms and glaring at each other doesn't seem like working it out."

"Dean needs his space, and I'm giving it to him," Castiel says firmly. "When he's ready, I'll be here."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

But he's not. Dean won't let him. It makes Castiel stir crazy. Angry. Jittery. Silently he keeps vigil, but only to make sure that Dean goes to his appointments, keeps up with his PT without argument when Lisa is at the house, and refills his husband's weekly pill sorter on Sunday. A week goes by, and Dean is no more willing to talk, though Cain keeps telling Castiel in vage, not-breaking-doctor-patient-confidentiality words, that Dean is working through his trauma well.

So, Castiel dives into his other job, since there is one thing he can do, and that's train Jack, who is nothing if not eager to learn the ropes. He shows up to the indoor shooting range with a huge smile and a firm handshake.

"I've studied all of the files and the SOP's you gave me. They're very thorough. Did you write them yourself?"

Castiel opens the weapons locker to retrieve their sidearms and ear protection. "No. Dean and I developed them together over the time we've been partners."

"They're amazing. Even Bobby thinks they're great."

"Bobby's the best trainer I ever had. You're lucky you caught his notice."

"Oh, I know," Jack says cheerfully, taking the offered handgun and giving it a thorough once over. 

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the dividing wall, watching Jack check over his weapon. "How did you get into this line of work, anyway?"

Jack shrugs with a pleasant expression. He sets the sidearm down on the table and slips the headphones around his neck. "I've always wanted to help people."

Castiel smiles a little. "You could have been something like a first responder."

"I could have, yes... but keeping innocent people away from the bad guys seemed... I dunno. More important to me."

Considering, Castiel tilts his head from side to side. "That's very noble, of course. But if it's true, why would you choose to be a bodyguard? You're only protecting one person in this line of work, not the many."

Jack's brows knit in confusion. "Is that less important?"

"Is it?" 

Jack smiles, slips on the ear protection, and squares off with the paper target at the end of the range. "Every soul is important," he says, and empties the clip dead center into the target's chest.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Bobby slightly undersold Jack. Once he and Castiel are into the actual training, Castiel quickly realizes that there's almost nothing that the kid is bad at. He works hard, soaks up instructions like a sponge, and actually beats Castiel on Bobby's obstacle course on the first try.

He also eats more candy bars than even Gabriel probably has in his entire life.

"Where do you put all that sugar?" Charlie asks incredulously as she teaches him how to run queries in the database she'd built. 

But Jack just shrugs. "I like nougat."

"Love this guy!" Gabriel laughs.

"I think we'll try the farmer's market tomorrow," Castiel muses. "Sam's been wanting to go. It'll be a good test of your skills amidst some real chaos."

Jack's shoulders straighten in excitement. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," Castiel says.

And after they're done in the office for the night, Castiel takes a chance and goes to the bedroom where he's positive that Dean's been hiding out the whole day, as usual. He knocks and there's no answer. For the past week he'd been respecting that, but Dean needs to know the schedule, and it's a step too far to start texting him or something when they're under the same roof. He pushes open the door.

Dean is on the bed tapping away on his laptop. He barely glances up when Castiel enters. "What?" he asks shortly.

Castiel sighs. "Dean, please."

Dean says nothing. He just stares.

So Castiel does as he's supposed to do, and sticks to the reason he's here. "Sam asked to go the farmer's market tomorrow. I'm going to run Jack through his paces there. Hannah will be here. So will Gabriel and Charlie, for what's it's worth. If you need to contact me--"

"I'll be-e-e-e-e f-f-fine," Dean says moodily. 

"Can we please talk?" Castiel asks, trying his best to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"No."

"Ever?" he asks, throat tight.

"D-d-don't b-e-e-e dramt-t-t-tic."

Castiel swallows the thickness in his throat. His patience can only last for so long, as understanding as he's trying to be. "I don't think I am," he says testily. "It's been a week. We need to at least open a line of communication."

Dean snaps the laptop shut. "I'm t-t-trying," he spits. "I b-b-been t-tryin'." He strips off his reading glasses, tosses them aside. Scrubs at his face. Speaks a lot more gently once he continues. "Man, I s-s-s-see the way-y-y-y- y'look at m-m-m-me."

Heart clenching, Castiel pleads, "Dean, I--"

"No." He chops his hand through the air. "I ne-e-e-e-ed t-t-time t-to process-s-s-s-s this sh-sh-shit. Ok-k-k-kay?"

Castiel takes a step forward. Falters. Puts a hand out, but aborts the movement at the last second. There's nothing he can do to fix _this_. It's just time. Dean's asking for time. And there's no way to know if the end result will be a good thing or a bad thing.

_Stop being selfish_. That's become his mantra since his session with Cain. This isn't about him. Well, _this_ is about him, but it's also about _them_. Their relationship - their marriage - is a two way street. And Castiel can understand how Dean wants some time to himself. That's understandable. He never could stand pity or guilt, and Castiel _is_ guilty. He _does_ pity Dean. And he's terrible at hiding his feelings. Even worse when he's face to face with a profiler. He doesn't need to guess what Dean sees, because it must be as plain as day. He can only hope that it'll get better. That Dean will forgive him for changing his life so thoroughly. And if he doesn't... well, there's preparations to be made there, too.

So he says, "when you're ready..." Breaks off to clear his throat because his voice sounds far too weak. Straightens his shoulders. "When you're ready, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," Dean answers.

Castiel nods. Gives in. "I'll text you any updates in the meantime."

Dean only grunts in acknowledgement. But considering it's the most they've spoken to each other in a long time, Castiel counts it as a win when he closes the door behind him. He turns to find Sam dithering in the hallway with a guilty expression.

"I heard all that," he says.

Castiel nods again. "I'm sorry, Sam."

He scoffs. "It's not about me."

_Or anyone else except me and Dean,_ Castiel thinks. "I really am trying." Still, he's ready for whatever Sam wants to dish out. He's steeled himself.

Therefore, he's surprised when Sam takes him in a rough hug and releases him before he can so much as react.

"I know you are. My bullheaded brother'll come around, eventually. Thanks for being here. Sticking it out. I mean it, Cas."

"I love him," Castiel says simply, shocked into the immediate admission. "I'll do whatever it takes to make him happy."

Sam pats his shoulder. "Good," he says with the beginnings of a smile. "I'm counting on ya."

"Thank you," Castiel says. And he sincerely means it.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel share some privacy. Cain gets to the heart of the matter during a joint therapy session. Dean comes clean about his feelings.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  handjobs  
> Dean's headspace

Lisa breezes into the PT room bright and early, looking far more excited than Dean thinks she should have any right to be. 

"Hey," he says, because she gets mad when he doesn't greet her.

"Hey, Dean!" she says enthusiastically. "I've found a winner for you, and I'm not kidding this time."

"An-n-n-n-toher win?" he gripes with a hint of humor.

She trots over to where he is by the mirror spotting himself with the hand weights. "No, I'm serious this time! You'll love it." She holds a printed stack of papers out and Dean takes them after carefully putting the weights down. "Company called Tran Bionics. Don't let the dumb name put you off, either. They're amazing."

Dean dutifully rifles through the sheets because Lisa will just keep on talking at him with her loud enthusiasm if he doesn't give her a respectful amount of listening time. "W-w-w-w-w-hat's s-s-so special with th-th-them?"

Grinning brighter, she kneels down next to his chair to look over his shoulder. She points to the photograph. "Check this stuff out! Totally cutting edge. Robocop level, even, which'll work for you, right?" She winks. "The prosthetic limbs are completely articulated. They've mostly done hands and arms at this point, but they're going into trials for a line of legs and feet. You're a perfect candidate."

He has to admit this limb is far more interesting than the ones they've looked at yet. The design is pretty cool, actually. It's a sleek black model with buttons and LED lights on it, though there's a footnote that says it can be made with any number of color options. Dean flips to the last page and see's the creator and founder of Tran Bionics smiling nervously for the camera.

"Y-y-ya gotta be kidding-g-g-g-g," he scoffs.

Lisa sighs. "Ignore that part and just focus on the specs, okay?"

"How?" he demands. "Thi-i-i-i-i-s was m-m-made by a k-k-kid with a cu-cu-curfew."

"You're gonna find an excuse for everything, aren't you?" Lisa says with a hint of frost. "Look, I know you don't appreciate me strong-arming you, but you need to do something eventually. I've booked us an appointment. And they're super hard to get, so you're going. Also, I'm preempting you on the cost. Sam says he'll pay for anything as long as you're happy with it, and the quote I got is no exception."

"Got m-m-e by th-th-the short 'n cu-cu-cu-curlies."

"You bet I do," she grins. "Now. What were you doing with those weights?"

Dean just glares and Lisa laughs.

"Show me what you're made of." Dean groans and she says, "what are your pain levels today? Are we using the actual ten point scale, or the Dean Winchester scale?"

"Seven," he answers. 

"Real scale it is," she says, taking the papers back and fishing her tablet out of her bag. "Phantom pain still?"

Dean nods. 

"You take anything?"

He shakes his head.

"There's no toughing it out with me, hotshot. Take a pill and we'll stretch while we're waiting for it to kick in."

He groans about that, too, but obeys and digs his prescription painkillers out of his exercise bag, downing the minimum dosage with half his bottle of water. Then he slides out of his chair with some difficulty to lay flat on his back on the matted floor. Lisa doesn't let him get away with much the longer she works with him. Lately she's threatened yoga when he gets stubborn since she used to be an instructor, and Dean would rather do literally anything else, so his self-preservation keeps him from arguing most of the time. Besides, when he's agreeable and does the work, she gives him a cool down massage that would make the angels weep. She's the whole package, and when he's finished guided PT for good, he swears he's going to send her a fruit basket. And a bigger one to Gabriel for finding her in the first place. 

But for now he needs to focus on keeping the pain managed so he doesn't puke. 

Of course, pain is the new normal and it sucks ass. He'd been warned about this shitty reality by everyone from Dr. Barnes to Lisa herself, but none of that makes it easier. It really only makes him angry. He can't even seem to keep a civil tongue in his head around Charlie, and she's impossible to be mean to. 

But it bites. He can only fight so much, right? So how's he supposed to be peaches and rainbows when his body is giving him the proverbial finger every second of the day? It's not possible. Aside from healing wounds and knitting bones, he's got migraines, memory loss, the frustrating stutter, and _a missing fucking foot_ that his brain keeps trying to find by shooting razor sharp daggers at all the damn time. And all that is a _good_ day. 

Plus, God bless him for a fool, but he misses Cas like he misses his foot. He just can't do it right now. Every time their eyes meet, there's nothing but soulful pity, and Dean can't deal with it. As soon as he lets up an inch, Cas will be at him with some huge apology and the need for a soul bearing conversation. Dean wishes he could handle that, especially knowing that they both could use it before the damn ship sinks, but he can't. His mind isn't there. It's just... too fucking _much_.

"Hey, Dean, you still with me?"

Belatedly he realizes that Lisa has stopped lifting his leg to stretch. He pushes up onto his elbows and levels her with a questioning look.

"Drifted off again," she says.

Dean nods. "Sorry. 'M'here."

"Totally fine," she beams in her irritatingly supportive way. But at least they get through the stretches and exercises without much trouble. Lisa chats a little bit as usual, but seems to read that Dean doesn't want to talk much, so she doesn't press for anything. That's why he likes her. Today's a day to focus on just getting through the workout. He's glad to be moving his body; he's never been lazy, but every movement is a freaking chore. He has to earn the smallest gesture, and it sucks worse than anything. He grits his teeth and powers through until the full brunt of the painkillers are behind him and it gets easier, thankfully.

He's into his cool down when Lisa casually says, "so, I was thinking we could invite Cas to the appointment. He's been asking about how our hunt is going for the perfect prosthesis."

Dean scowls, wiping at his sweating forehead with a towel. "Not-t-t-t h-h-his busin-n-n-n-ness."

Lisa scowls right back it him. "That's so far from true."

He knows that. It's just that he wishes sometimes that Lisa would go easy on him. That ain't how she's made, though. "Yeah," he relents.

She hands him another bottle of water. "Still on the freeze out?"

Dean nods.

"I get it," she answers, brushing her hair out of her face. "Can I tell you something as someone totally in your corner, though?"

Dean shrugs as he downs the whole contents of the bottle.

"Castiel _really_ misses you."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean thinks, _he misses what I used to be. He told me so and everything._

"Please let him come to the appointment. It'll help you both get a sense of everything in context, rather than a bunch of doctors and shrinks telling you all these nebulous things."

Since Lisa is so helpful, and annoyingly right most of the time, Dean considers it. What harm could it do? Honestly, it would either help them, or rush along the worst case scenario. In Dean's moments of clarity, he realizes that part of his blocking Cas out is selfish desire to prolong an undesired outcome. Of delving too deep and finally being told that it's _too much_. That Castiel has hit his limit. That their relationship isn't worth all this bullshit. That Dean isn't the man he married anymore.

Castiel's words still burn like acid days later. _"The man I married wasn't like this!"_

He's right, though. It ain't the same. Dean's not the same. He'll never be the same. There's no shame in that for him personally. He can deal. He _will_.

Cas didn't sign up for this. And Dean knows better than anyone that love can only go so far before it starts doing more harm than good. He doesn't know where the toxicity level becomes too high, but he needs to find out. Before it hurts worse. The pity and Castiel's sadness is already filling the tank.

"He ca-c-c-can come," he mutters finally.

Lisa bumps his shoulder. "Good!"

Of course, thinking and doing are two different things. Dean manages to convince Lisa to extend the invitation to Tran Bionics, claiming exhaustion and speech trouble. Probably knowing he's lying, but also not wanting him to renege on the offer, she takes the lead.

It's almost comical how Castiel is so surprised at being included that his eyes pop wide and he almost fumbles his glass of orange juice. He agrees so quickly that he starts stuttering himself, and Dean feels even more like an ass for causing this sad turn of personality for his husband. 

But it gets the job done. Lisa gives him the details and Castiel immediately puts it on the priority schedule. 

Sam is also disproportionately thrilled that Castiel is going to go to the appointment. He promises to stay home and be good. Help Jack out with the house rules and generally not cause trouble. Dean sarcastically says the same while they get ready to go to the farmer's market. Jack says he'll watch out for everyone, and Dean simply leaves the room.

"That's the best reaction we could have hoped for," Castiel says softly.

Sam says nothing but stares after his brother. Jack holds his peace and asks Benny to bring the car around. Ten minutes later they're on their way. Castiel takes the liberty of testing the mics, feeling strange about having it in again. Especially when it's Jack's voice who answers him. Regardless, it is nice to get back out into the field again. Though, he hadn't counted on the immediate anxiety that crawls through his chest. He'd known he'd be worried, but it's still unwelcome and problematic. He'll get it back. He has to.

The market is already crowded when they arrive. Jack steps out first and scans the area. "This is a lot of people," he says.

"Good stress test," Castiel says, exiting the car to stand beside him. "Now, this area is good practice because it's familiar to me and Sam. Most of the people who come here are influential or famous anyway, so the risk is usually low, but it's not zero."

"Understood."

"Step one?"

"Case." Jack's eyes flick around the parking lot and through the crowds. "No one appears to be taking special interest."

Castiel knocks on the window to signal Sam. "Correct. Next?"

Sam steps out of the car with his reusable bags, hanging back like he usually doesn't do in order to give Jack some extra time and an encouraging smile. He'll clearly be on his best behavior today. Castiel appreciates the effort. 

"Flank the big guy!" Jack says brightly.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam laughs. 

"Let's go," Castiel says, mouth pulling up into an effortless smile that takes him a second to realize is the most genuine one he's worn in weeks. But for once, he resists talking himself out of his good mood. It feels nice. Weightless. Yes, he has a lot to feel guilty about. Yes, he feels bad about being in a good mood when he's certain that Dean's not. But he can be selfish when he's out of the house. It's just for a couple of hours.

Jack is wonderful during their excursion. Sam's bags are loaded and they've made a full circuit of the entire sprawling market in just under two hours. They're waiting near the apple stand where Sam is examining nearly every piece of fruit, stepped back a little, when Jack asks out of the blue, "does Dean hate me?"

Castiel angles his head to look at his recruit. "No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

Jack's face pinches into youthful worry. "Because he barely talks to me. And he glares a lot. Yesterday he told me that I wasn't doing enough to bring myself up to speed when I didn't remember Sam's food allergies."

Castiel sighs. "Dean is... he's in a difficult situation. He's trying to cope."

"I understand that," Jack says kindly. "But I don't want his job forever. I don't think he believes me."

"He's jealous," Castiel says, not bothering to mince words. There's no point. "Dean _does_ feel threatened by you. Plus, we're getting along just fine. I believe he's afraid that I'll prefer you to him when it comes down to it."

"He's your _husband_ ," Jack points out, like that's the only reasonable explanation. A month ago, it would have been. 

With a wry smile, Castiel says, "he is. But that doesn't stop feelings of hostility and inadequacy. I'm sorry, Jack. I can speak with him."

Jack holds up a hand. "No need. I like him. He's really awesome. He doesn't have to like me back. I'll just do what I'm supposed to and make sure that everything is ready for him when he's ready to come back to work."

Castiel claps Jack on the shoulder, overwhelmed with the sentiment. "Thank you, Jack. With that sort of attitude, I'm sure Dean will come around. And for what it's worth, you're doing fantastic."

Jack's grin shows all his teeth. "Thank you, Castiel!"

Sam's with them a moment later, loaded down with fresh produce. "Good haul today. You ready to go?"

"Yes!" Jack says cheerfully. "Did you get everything you needed?"

"And then some," Sam answers. "Let's head back."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Dean is relieved to have the house to himself for a little while. He's sick of all the hovering. There's always some damn appointment to go to, or doctor talking to him, or family member trying to help out. It's exhausting. And irritating. He's so fucking tired of everything. Of Cain trying to _My Fair Lady_ him about the rain in Spain being mainly on the plains into proper speech again. And drilling into his head about how he's _feeling_. It's fucking _obvious_. He's in pain, he's pissed off, and he just wants to sleep for a full night without waking up nearly screaming at how badly it still hurts. Shit hurts that isn't even _there_ anymore.

He hates the therapy sessions. He hates the PT. He hates sleeping alone. He hates the idea of sleeping with Cas. He hates his medications. He hates shopping for a foot like he would a pair of pants. He hates the pain, and the pity, and the pills, and the anger, and the hopelessness, and the sleeplessness, and the hot tears that hurt worse than the phantom pain as he scrubs hard at his cheeks, upsetting the scabbing wounds on his face, but he can't...

"Dean?"

Dean tries to find Castiel through his watery vision. He's glad he can't see him well enough to read him right now. "Cas?" His voice is shattered. He hates that, too.

But Cas is there. He can feel the bed dip and then he's curling into a familiar pair of arms. Cradled against a familiar chest. And then he's crying so hard that his nearly-healed ribs ache terribly. 

He doesn't know if he's shaking so hard that it's making Castiel shake with him, but they're doing it together regardless, and that sucks a whole lot less. For a second, anyway.

But God help him, he needs this right now. Vulnerable doesn't fit too well in his lexicon, but he's cracked wide open and this is the only thing that's bringing him a measure of peace. Something he sorely fucking needs at least tonight. He cries like a goddamn baby for the first time since he woke up, and Castiel's weight blankets him. 

"Does it hurt?"

That's too big of a question. "Y-y-y-y-" And now the one thing he needs to work for one freaking second, won't. 

Castiel threads his fingers through his hair "Shh. It's okay. We don't have to talk right now," he whispers desperately. "Let's not talk tonight. Shh, Dean. Please. We don't have to do this tonight."

Thank God. 

_Thank God._

His fingers clench in Castiel's shirt until they cramp. He folds himself into his husband's lap, squeezes his eyes shut, and just lets the flood come. He's not sure why Castiel keep shushing him, though. Not until his ears stop buzzing with white noise and he hears himself muttering, "sorry. Sor-r-r-r-ry. Sorry-y-y. Sorry." He can't seem to stop even though his throat hurts like a bitch.

Castiel continues to shush him and Dean keeps apologizing until Castiel's lips on his forehead stop him. 

The worst part is, they _do_ need to do something now, but they won't. Dean's not sure he could at any other time, and he should, but he won't. Because Castiel's tears are making his scalp cold, and everything else sucks again. The comfort wasn't good while it lasted.

But when Castiel tilts his chin up to kiss him gently, it's okay. It feels like it used to.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Castiel asks.

Dean nods furiously. He's out of gas at this point. He can't ask Cas to do anything he doesn't want to do, like leave. Maybe the morning will be different, but for tonight he can have whatever he wants.

And what he wants is something they used to have. Carefully, as he's done countless times even before now, Castiel removes their clothes down to their boxers and tucks them in under the covers, pressed tightly together. It used to annoy Dean because Castiel is a furnace when he sleeps, and they'd always wake up mildly sweaty, but he craves that tonight. He wants to feel at least one small thing the way it had been before this mess.

It's not quite right the way that his body hurts so badly and Castiel is still trembling against him, and it takes him a long time to focus on the other things. Like the spicy smell of Castiel's cologne. The way that they situate themselves in each other's arms. The way that Castiel links their fingers together and kisses his temple to signal that he's settling in for the night.

He was being honest that they didn't have to do anything tonight. 

_Thank God_.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

When he wakes up, Dean's body is burning from the inside out. He must make a noise or move too much because a second later, Cas is rolling towards him and saying drowsily, "c'mere, it's okay."

Something about his voice and the way he moves makes it all ethereal. Something he doesn't have to process fully. In the haze, Dean really does think that it'll be okay. It relaxes him slightly. The pain dulls when Castiel's lips find his, pressing in a barely-there kiss, like it's a question. Dean tilts his chin up for another one. Then he yanks Castiel down by his hair for the kiss he's been missing for a month of Sundays.

There's a wild amount of fumbling; he can tell that Cas is trying to temper it. So Dean does what he's good at. Taking, and taking, and taking. He shoves his tongue into his husband's mouth and lets the rest take care of itself. Because once the dam has broken, they're both drowning. He's not sure if he can get hard with all the pain he's in and medications he's on, but he immediately realizes that it's totally beside the point. He's just gotta have the relief, and Cas has always been good for that. There's no noise, though that's probably because his ears are ringing. Again. Still. But he doesn't have to talk. Doesn't have to register anything except Cas's hands on him; inevitable but also soothing. They're cool everywhere they touch. Almost like an ice pack that's been wrapped in too many towels. Helpful, but not quite good enough to take away this discomfort.

So he tries for distraction. It doesn't take much to convince Cas to move enough so that Dean can work his hands down under his boxers and take hold of his husband's achingly hard cock. Holy shit, it's amazing. His hands still shake something awful all the time, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind the way that he groans loudly and straddles Dean's knees for him to get a better angle.

And for once in his blessed life, Dean doesn't tire out too quickly to be useful. He jacks Cas off hard and quick. There's no finesse, but after all this time, there's no point in that at all. Castiel's Two Minute Miracle will help them both tonight.

It's beautiful to hear Cas moan over and over, " _Dean_! Dean. Dean, Dean!"

Dean blinks away the bliss and Castiel is over him still. Or again. There's something... wrong. He's not looking sated. He's looking scared. "Dean?"

"W-w-w-hat?" _What the hell_? He glances down. His hands are by his sides. Castiel is still tucked into his boxers and soft. 

"You were moaning and thrashing around. I thought you might be having a nightmare, or in pain. Is there anything I can do?"

Still in that strange twilight of consciousness that happens when woken in the middle of dream, Dean thinks, _there's a lot you could do,_ and grabs for his husband exactly as his dream self had done.

Their lips have barely touched when Castiel jerks back violently like he's been hit. Blue eyes wide, he gasps, "Dean, what's going on?"

"Wa-wa-want you," Dean says.

Castiel pulls away further. In fact, he sits up completely and turns on the bedside lamp like an asshole. "Dean, we can't. It's not..." his face pinches. "We can't do this right now. It's the middle of the night, and we haven't even..." He must see something in Dean's expression, because he finishes with, "I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean jolts up onto his elbows, angrier than he's been yet. "You're s-s-s-s-s-sorry?!" he hisses. "For-r-r-r wh-wh-what, C-c-c-c-cas? For m-m-me?!"

Castiel puts his hands up in a placating gesture that looks pretty fucking condescending from Dean's point of view. "Yes, of course I am! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't... I..." His breath shudders out of his lungs. "It's too late to be talking about this. And we're seeing Cain tomorrow. Maybe... I should go to the guest room."

Dean wants to throw something at the man's head. Yell at him for being a fucking coward. For taking all the blame onto himself. Yes, Dean realizes that a good deal of their communication problems lately are because of him. He needed space and he got it, and true to form, he didn't know how to reopen the lines of communication. But the way that Castiel recoils from even the _suggestion_ of intimacy? It's torture.

Castiel slips out of the bed and pulls his clothes on slowly. He looks so lost. So timid the way his eyes flick to Dean and then away in a blink. 

He's supposed to be in control. He's not supposed to be scared and standoffish. He's not supposed to speak in more sentence fragments than complete thoughts. That's not how he operates. That's not how their relationship goes. The timidity is as annoying as it is terrifying.

This isn't Cas. Dean's fingers gather the comforter in a white-knuckled grip. "A-a-a-aren't ya sup-p-p-p-osed to-to-to be a D-d-d-dom?"

Surprised, Castiel turns from the door. Dean can read him perfectly fine right now. And everything he sees breaks his damn heart. "Not like this," Castiel says sadly. He opens the door and steps into the hallway. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Y-y-y-yeah," Dean murmurs. The door shuts and he's alone again. "Right."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

The speech sessions with Cain have been paying dividends lately. When calm and able to collect his thoughts, Dean's stutter becomes much less pronounced. Cain warns that it may never fully go away, especially during times of stress, but all things considered, Dean isn't going to be picky. But he also can't define why Castiel looking at him with shock and awe during the first part of their joint counseling session agitates him so much. So he didn't stutter through one whole sentence. Big fricken' deal.

"Thank you both for being here," Cain says.

"No problem," Dean answers.

"Yes," Castiel says, removing his jacket and making sure that Dean is comfortable before seating himself on the couch next to where Dean's parked his wheelchair. "Of course."

Cain crosses his ankle over his knee. "So, I think it would be most productive to do half the session with both of you, and the last half with Dean by himself, if you're both amenable."

"That's fine," Castiel hastens to assure them all. 

"Good. Then, I'll get straight to the point that's been pretty contentious for both of you in recent solo appointments. Why are you both still sleeping in separate rooms? There's no physical need for it anymore considering Dean's recovery status."

Dean and Castiel glance at each other, neither of them wanting to mention the debacle. Castiel quirks an eyebrow. Dean gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Castiel turns back to Cain. "We slept in the same room last night. It was... it wasn't easy."

Genuinely surprised, Cain looks back and forth between them. Seeing that both of his recalcitrant patients are going to spend the next half hour with red cheeks and pointed stares away from each other if they have their way, he says, "now's the time to tell me all about it in a safe space."

"I tr-t-t-tried to fuck him," Dean blurts harshly.

Castiel covers his eyes with one hand. "I said no."

Cain drops his feet to the floor and leans forward with interest. "Why did you say no?" His eyes flick to Dean, who is glaring at his husband.

Refusing to look up, Castiel says softly. "I wasn't ready."

"I'm fine!" Dean insists.

"Not you," Castiel corrects without hesitation. "It was _me_. I wasn't ready."

"Why not?" Cain prompts when Dean seems unable to come up with anything, and Castiel continues to stare at the carpet.

"Because our sex life is complicated. And I... there's a lot I... um."

"BDSM," Dean clarifies.

"Oh!" Cain exclaims. Once again he watches them both for an eye-opening minute. He studies them for a minute and then ventures, "so, Dean, you're the Dom?"

Dean puffs a sarcastic, "ha!" and even Castiel shows his face again, though he won't look up.

"Cas?" Cain prompts.

"I'm the Dom," Castiel confirms.

"I see. So. Is this lifestyle the problem?"

"No," Dean says with a frown.

"It's been fulfilling for the both of us up until this point," Castiel says. "We talked about it before we even entered into a sexual relationship. Dean had little experience with it before me, but we managed to find a relationship that works for the both of us. At least for me, I had no complaints."

Cain gestures to Dean, prompting. "Agreed," Dean says. "W-w-w-we had it g-good there."

Nodding, Cain asks, "so what happened last night?"

Dean shrugs. "I was k-k-kinda horny. And I tr-tr-tried to... mmm... st-start s-s-s-something-g-g."

"And then you said no, Castiel?" Cain asks.

"I did. I... we hadn't talked about resuming a sexual relationship, kinky or otherwise. It was the middle of the night. I was surprised by the sudden advance, and I said no. I wasn't prepared. I needed to think about it before we went further. So, I went back to the guest room."

Dean says nothing, though he appears to be bottling up a lot for when he's alone with Cain. And since the therapist knows that pressing will only cause a shutdown, he says, "all right, then let's think about this: considering Dean has been cleared for sexual activity, Castiel, what is your biggest concern here? Why are you so hesitant to bring that physical intimacy back since Dean has said he's ready?"

Castiel thinks about it for a long time. He looks at Cain. Looks at Dean. Looks at the painting hanging behind the mahogany desk opposite him. Haltingly, he says, "perhaps in my mind, I still think that Dean is more fragile than he is in his recovery. It's not necessarily the reality, but it's what my mind keeps telling me. I'm not sure I can... I'm not sure that I'm comfortable exploring kink, to be completely honest."

When Dean reaches out, Castiel responds instinctively by squeezing the offered hand. He puts his full attention on his husband, eyes steely with his resolve. "Please let me say this to you, Dean. I love you more than anyone in the world. You're my husband, and the promises we've made to each other and to God are extremely important to me. Please believe that. But things have changed. My breach of protocol has caused unimaginable suffering to you. I own that because I wasn't there sooner and didn't do what I should have. Regardless of what happens between us, I will always regret that."

Dean matches the pressure of Castiel's hand on his.

"We've discovered... so many wonderful things together sexually. Brought each other such blessings. However... causing you that exquisite pain after causing you this?" He gestures with his free hand. "I can't... I don't think that I can do the former without guilt and fear because of the latter."

Dean swallows. Almost inaudibly, he asks, "ever?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I honestly don't know."

Dean sets his jaw and nods. "Okay." 

It's not okay. In a rush, he recalls Castiel's words from the very day they went co-op. _"I'm not looking for a conventional relationship. They've never satisfied me in the past. My needs are different."_ His dealbreaker. His husband is saying that the vows are what's keeping him tethered to their marriage now. The promises. Because Castiel Novak doesn't break promises, even when he doesn't want them anymore. "Okay," he says again.

"Thank you for listening," Castiel murmurs.

Dean nods.

"Do you have anything to add?" Cain prompts.

Dean shakes his head. "N-n-n-not r-r-r-right now-w-w-w. 'Kay?" He ignores the way that Castiel's lips curve down at his suddenly more pronounced stutter.

"That's fine," Cain says. "Castiel, what I'd like to do now, is speak with Dean on his own, unless you have anything else to say? We can go over your side tomorrow."

"I'm good," Castiel says, giving Dean's hand one more squeeze and letting go. "I'll be out front."

Once they're alone, Cain wastes no time. "I can see the gears turning with something big in there, Dean. You left a lot unsaid. Would you like to share what's going on in that head of yours? What are you thinking about?"

Dean deflates, slouching in his chair, head on the backrest, blinking slowly at the ceiling. "Divorce," he says calmly. "'M th-th-thinking about-t-t divorce."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets good news about his prosthesis. Castiel gets advice from Cain. Dean and Castiel re-establish physical intimacy. It gets a little out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  fingering  
> comfort sex  
> D/s emotional switch  
> too many words in this chapter
> 
> Have an extra long chapter as an apology for the last terrible ending!

After they get home, Dean is even more dour than usual. Castiel wonders at it for a few hours, then knocks on the bedroom door when Dean escapes at a decent enough hour for bedtime. As usual, there's no answer, but also no yelling to stay the hell out, so Castiel opens it.

Dean barely glances up from his tablet. "Hey, C-c-cas," he says.

"Hello, Dean." He dithers in the doorway, sensing that he's unwelcome, but not certain enough to just leave. "Was everything all right with Cain?"

"Yeah," he says, exhausted. 

"That's... good. I'm glad. I'm... I have my appointment with him tomorrow... which you know."

"Cas," Dean groans, pained. "C-c-can we n-not? I n-n-n-need some sp-p-p-ace."

"I understand," Castiel says. "I do. It's only... I said some things that seem to have..." he grimaces. "We really need to talk. I think you might have taken some of the things that I said the wrong way."

"Like w-w-what?" Dean demands. "You were pretty clear-r-r-r."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Castiel asks, "this is about the sex?"

"What else?"

"May I please sit?" Dean nods towards the armchair next to the window and Castiel drags it over, but not too close into Dean's personal space. He clearly doesn't want to dive deeper into their emotional mess, and Castiel is loathe to do it, but when Dean stews it morphs into grudges. Neither of them need that. So he presses on. "Can I ask what your biggest issue with it is? I never said never, Dean. I was only saying that I need more time to... adjust."

Dean gives him a hard look. "I w-wa-w-w-wanna know ab-b-bout the kink stuff."

Castiel leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Ah. I really haven't got an answer for you. I want to be completely honest with you, Dean. I'm trying to."

Dean scoots up on the pillows. "Yeah, I g-g-get that. But it's y-y-your d-dealbreaker. Was from th-the st-st-start."

"I remember what I said," Castiel murmurs. 

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "It's who y-y-y-you are, babe."

Castiel's face pinches. "I know. I know it's a part of me. But I..." he looks up at his husband and looks like he's about to shatter. "I love you, Dean. I married you in good faith because of that. My feelings don't change just because I'm scared. They don't change because of what we may or may not be able to do later on."

"What if-f-f m-m-mine did?" Dean asks awfully gently. 

Castiel swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. Voice sandpapered down, he says, "what are you getting at?"

"The rest of our l-l-l-lives, C-c-c-c-c-cas. I c-c-can't do this 'til de-de-death do us p-p-part."

A tear slides down Castiel's cheek and he catches it with the meat of his palm. "I can. I want to."

Dean shakes his head. "I can't sp-spend the r-r-r-r-rest of my life sc-sc-scaring you."

"This scares me more," Castiel says miserably. "And who said it was forever? This fear in me of hurting you..." he presses his hand over his chest. "It's something I can work on. I'm going to try."

"It's a rig-g-g-gged deck, man. You can ma-ma-make it better, sure, but it'll always b-b-b-be ta-ta-ta-tainted. Tell me you won't-t-t-t al-al-always remember that night when y-y-y-you see my l-l-l-leg from now on. Tell me it w-w-won't-t-t-t h-h-hold you b-b-b-back when you're t-t-t-tying me up." 

He massages his jaw again in consternation. This is probably more than he's said all at once in a month, Castiel realizes. It beats him down low, making the words that much worse. "Tell me i-i-i-it won't tak-k-ke you out of your-r-r-r headsp-sp-sp-space when I fuck-k-k-king _scream_ f-f-f-for you. C-c-c-can you do that, C-c-c-cas? Can you _promise_ m-m-me that?"

"No," he says almost inaudible, voice cracking into a thousand pieces. "Of course I can't promise that. It's a likely scenario. But together, maybe--"

"I d-d-d-don't want th-th-that. I c-c-c-can't do th-th-that. It's t-t-t-too h-h-hard on top-p-p-p of-of-of ev-v-v-rything."

Castiel reaches out and takes Dean's hand. He can physically hear how hard this is for him just by how more pronounced his stutter is getting. "Do you love me, Dean?"

Dean stares at him for a minute. Bows his head. Nods once.

Castiel scoots his chair closer. He leans in as far as he can. Dean doesn't pull away; in fact, he pulls further into Castiel's orbit. Castiel cups his face and gently puts their foreheads together. "Then what makes you think I wouldn't fight for this?"

"B-b-because is ma-a-a-aking both of us un-un-unhappy."

"Maybe for now." He thumbs away the tears in the corners of Dean's eyes. "But I don't believe it'll be forever. I have faith."

Dean sighs noisily. "St-st-sticking ar-r-r-round because of our v-v-v-ows w-w-will only m-m-make us res-s-s-s-sent each oth-th-ther."

Castiel pulls back, though Dean's hands chase him until only their fingers are touching. "Can we make a deal, then? Before we give up before we've tried?"

Dean's green eyes bore into Castiel's for a long pause. Searching for something. Then he says, "yeah."

"We both have a lot to work through. And I don't think we should be making any final decisions yet. Do you agree?"

Carefully, Dean nods again. 

Tentatively, Castiel offers a small smile. "Good." It fades. "Dean, I won't lie to you and say that either of us will definitely, without a doubt, get back to where we were. But this relationship is worth fighting for. It's worth trying. I'm willing. Are you?"

"I am," Dean answers.

"Then, let's do that. Let's set some goals to work towards. Keep working with Cain. And if we can't reach those goals, or get to that mutual decision that we can't get to a place we're both happy with, then... then." His eyes drop to their joined hands. Clearing his throat, he finishes, "I won't force either of us into an unhappy future, if it comes down to it."

Dean's thumb strokes over his knuckles. Over his wedding ring. "Cas."

Castiel looks up, hesitating all the way. 

Dean smiles, though it's shaky. His brow wrinkles with concentration, and he purses his lips, chewing on the words before speaking. "You're th-the best. Love you."

It's a start. It's an improvement. Castiel's eyes are still wet, but his heart doesn't hurt as much when he kisses Dean this time.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Castiel checks in the following morning, and Dean is still willing to let him accompany them to Tran Bionics. It's a sleek building downtown, though unobtrusive. It's all glass and metal with a simple sign on the roof of the five story building.

"Frankly, I was expecting Stark Industries," Castiel notes and Dean laughs. "Can you blame me? They're turning people like you into the bionic man."

Dean winks. "Jel-l-lous?"

Castiel shrugs. "A little."

Lisa parks her modded SUV in the visitor deck and opens the back for Dean. Castiel watches with interest in how it appears effortless for Dean to get his chair onto the lift and out. Lisa presses all the buttons and they're ready to go in a minute. They really do work well together. Castiel hadn't even considering car modifications for Dean, and he's a little ashamed of himself for not being as unobtrusively useful to Dean as Lisa is. Sure, it's her job, but the only modifications Castiel had provided kept Dean locked in the house. And he's not one to enjoy spending all his time trapped indoors.

He can fix that.

He will fix that.

"Get th-the l-l-lead out!" Dean calls. He and Lisa are already halfway to the entrance.

Castiel shakes his head and jogs to catch up. "Sorry."

"You okay?" Lisa asks with mild concern.

"Fine," Castiel answers.

"You don't n-n-need to case the pl-pl-place," Dean admonishes with a smirk. "I ain't S-s-s-sam."

"No," Castiel murmurs, holding the door open for them. "You're more important to me."

Dean rolls his eyes, but he keeps smiling all the way to the reception desk. A cheerful young woman with pink streaks in her dark hair welcomes them and assures them that they'll be seen to shortly. 

In fact, they've barely had time to get comfortable when a short man with bright blue eyes, salt and pepper hair, a scraggly beard, and nervous smile welcomes them with a round of limp handshakes. "Nice to meet you guys. I'm Chuck Shurley, Kevin Tran's right hand man."

Lisa says, "nice to meet you! I'm Lisa Braeden, and this is Dean Winchester and his husband, Castiel Novak."

"Follow me." Chuck turns and leads them down a brightly lit hallway past glassed in offices and meeting rooms. "Mr. Tran's been working on some really awesome stuff. I'm mostly his proposal writer and PR guy while the business expands, but I also help screen potential candidates since I'm an MD. I oversee the clinicals." He glances over his shoulder. "Your application was great, by the way. I'm like, a hundred percent sure Mr. Tran'll take you. In here, please." He opens a glass door at the end of the hall into a cavernous and sparsely decorated office. By the floor to ceiling window is a huge brushed metal desk. Sitting behind four computer monitors on top of it, is Kevin Tran, typing away furiously. "Mr. Tran, your ten o'clock is here."

Kevin's head shoots up in surprise. Then he sees his guests. "Hey, guys," he says with a smile. "Come on in. Have a seat. Be with you in one sec." His fingers fly over the keys and then he's done and shoving the keyboard out of the way. "Hi. I'm Kevin."

"Dean," Dean says shortly. Then he's about to continue, but Castiel's hand is heavy on his shoulder like it always is when he's trying to keep something regrettable from tumbling out of Dean's mouth. And he's usually right, so Dean says nothing else.

"Castiel Novak," Castiel says, holding his hand out. Kevin has a surprisingly firm handshake. "Thank you for taking the time to see us."

"No problem," Kevin answers. "To be honest, Chuck here pushed your application through." He bumps Chuck's shoulder as the man come up beside him to drop some files on his desk. "My mom, too. She saw all about your story on the news and figured it would look good."

"Really?" Dean says with an edge.

"Yeah," Kevin says, not noticing or not caring about the blood in the water. "You're also a fantastic candidate for the foot models I've been working on. If the trials are successful, I can move on to legs. Ms. Braeden sent over your file. Super promising. Your surgeon was awesome. Makes my part a lot easier. Would you be willing to do an interview for the website?"

Dean's scowl is getting dangerous.

At least Chuck is good at his job. "Okay, bossman, why don't we talk tech before getting to the rest of it?"

Lisa pats Dean's arm and leans in to whisper, "seriously, he's really good."

Dean turns his head to mutter back, "he's barely out of diapers."

Lisa elbows him. Castiel snorts. Dean rolls his eyes at them both. But Castiel also whispers, "I researched him thoroughly. He's had complete success with the hands and arms he's designed. Perhaps his brilliance made potty training less of a priority."

Dean slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle an ugly laugh, but Kevin and Chuck are ignoring them, instead talking to Lisa, who is being far more mature and reasonable. She's already launched into a thorough questioning of the medical trial and what it entails.

"We'd like you to be in charge of the patient reporting for Dean," Chuck is saying. He passes her a list. "These are all the subjective and self-reporting data points that we collect. I'll take care of the objective data reporting. If Mr. Winchester here does as well as we hope, we can expand the clinical trials. Our goal is to have these limbs available for mass market in three to five years, just like we did with the hands and arms."

"I'm th-the g-g-g-guinea pig," Dean surmises.

Chuck shrugs. "Pretty much."

"Excuse me," Castiel says, glancing up from the informational brochure he'd been reading. "It says here that stage two of the trial is brain controlled movement. That's all well and good, but I'm sure you've noticed that Dean suffered a TBI. Wouldn't such a thing skew your data?"

Kevin beams at Castiel like he's the star pupil. "Actually, that's why we wanted him in the first place. We've got another guy on deck for the trial as well, no head trauma. We want to test the efficacy of the limbs in both cases. Reach a wider audience, y'know." He turns his attention to Dean. "How's your motor control these days?"

"Fine," Dean answers. "T-t-took some re-learn-n-ning, b-but it's mostly sp-sp-speech problems now. Gettin' b-b-better, though. Seiz-z-zure risk, b-but I've never h-had one."

"That's what we care about," Kevin says. "Stage one is cutaneous electrodes. Put them on the skin and let them control the limb. Stage two is embedding a couple of sensors in the muscles that read the electrical impulses from the brain to move the limb by thought. Super simplified, but you get the idea."

"I wanna do it," Dean says immediately, like he'd only been waiting for them to say what they needed to. He'd probably made up his mind days ago.

Chuck and Kevin perk up noticeably, but neither Lisa nor Castiel hide their shock. "Are you sure?" Lisa asks.

Dean scoffs. "'Course I am-m-m."

Castiel touches Dean's shoulder. "You can take some time to think about this."

"Already have," Dean insists. "Look. I tr-tr-tried on a m-m-million feet already. None'll l-l-let me g-get back out to w-w-work like I want. I'm not gonna w-w-wish for something-g-g back that I c-c-can't get. B-b-but..."

Kevin spreads his hands, "but this is the best alternative."

Dean nods.

"I can't promise miracles, but I know what I'm doing. The hands we've made? Pretty sweet stuff. They've helped people do stuff like knitting and playing the piano. And feet don't even need that kind of delicate fine tuning. Walking? Running? Totally doable."

"The research has been promising," Lisa allows. 

"Wh-wh-where do I sign?" Dean asks. 

Kevin grins and Chuck opens one of the files to pull out the contract. "Your lawyer's looked it over."

"Yes," Castiel says. "We were given the green light as far as that was concerned. If this is what Dean really wants, I'm in support."

"Same," Lisa agrees eagerly. 

Dean signs the contract and release forms, and Kevin doesn't so much as glance at them as he gets up from his chair to approach a covered box on the other side of the desk. "Meet your new best friend," he says and pulls off the cover with a flourish. 

Collectively, they all lean forward. "Awesome," Dean breathes.

Encased dramatically in glass is Tran Bionics' newest project. Even Castiel, who has very little knowledge of such things, agrees with Dean about it being awesome. It suits his husband perfectly since it's anything but subtle. It's sleek black and shiny with articulated joints and LEDs pretty much everywhere. 

"Top of the line!" Kevin says proudly, obviously boosted by their enthusiasm. "It'll be a little stiff to work with just using the cutaneous electrodes, but once you've got the implants? I'm hoping it'll be the next best thing to skin and bone." He turns the box around so that they can see the back of the prosthesis. "You'll get about twelve hours a charge with light use, but if you wanna do a lot of walking or running and stuff, you'll need to charge a lot more often. Hopefully we'll have better battery options in the future." He points to the port on the back. "For now? Standard USB, so you can charge it pretty much everywhere with adapters for the wall. Lithium Ion Polymer battery. Charges pretty fast just like a modern cell phone."

"How s-s-soon can I give it a te-te-test drive?" Dean asks.

"Tomorrow once we've processed your paperwork and started a chart, if you want," Chuck answers. "We can get it fitted to you properly and start some mobility tests."

"Schedule?" Dean asks Castiel.

"Clear," he says. "With Sam off, we can work around you, but there was nothing priority on the schedule for tomorrow."

"Let's d-do this," Dean tells Kevin and Chuck.

"Done," Chuck says. "Ten work for you?"

"That's fine," Lisa says. "I'm free until the evening."

"I'll stand by for anything you want," Castiel offers.

For the first time in a long time, Dean beams from ear to ear. "Tomorrow."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

By the time they arrive back at the house, it's time for Castiel to leave again for his appointment with Cain. Lisa stops her van in front of the garage and doesn't get out with them. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay? You excited, Dean?"

Dean rolls around to her window as soon as he's out. "Yeah. Th-th-thanks, Lisa."

"I'm just happy you found a model that piques your interest. Rest up a lot. They'll probably put you through your paces."

Dean waves her off and then accompanies Castiel into the carport. Castiel pulls his keys out of his pocket and steps around to his car. Dean stops him. "H-hey, Cas."

Castiel turns around. 

Dean rubs his hands over the bars on his wheels. "You okay w-w-w-with th-this?"

Castiel walks over to Dean. Leans down questioningly. Dean tilts his chin up. The kiss is light, but meaningful. "I'm okay with whatever you are," he answers. "I'm on your side, Dean."

Dean gives him a curious look, but doesn't say anything else. He smiles briefly then nods. Castiel waits until he's inside to allow his face to drop into a concerned frown. His former worry over what's going on in Dean's head about their relationship follows him all the way to Cain's office. They had cleared the air the night before, and Dean had certainly been in good spirits after going to Tran Bionics, but... Castiel had noticed an extremely distinct difference in his interactions with Lisa, Kevin, Chuck, and him. He's been on high alert since the night before, of course, but Dean's treating him so much more... distantly. They'd had a few moments where it had looked like they were back to where they'd been, but it had been so stark. Almost jarring.

Dean's still stewing, Castiel is certain. He's not totally sold on their agreement. Castiel wonders if a good portion of it was Dean demurring to him about sex because he's used to it now. The thought sits heavy as he climbs out of his car and drags himself to Cain's office. 

The therapist greets him with a cup of tea as usual. Castiel doesn't sit, though. He paces back and forth while Cain watches his progress neutrally. "Is Dean actively pursuing the divorce?" Castiel asks finally, halting suddenly as soon as the words are out. They stop him completely. 

"You know I can't talk about confidential things."

Castiel turns on his heel. "Cain," he barks. 

Cain scowls. "I can't, and I won't. Starting a session in an adversarial way won't change that."

Castiel's hands clench at his sides. "Do I need a lawyer?"

Cain doesn't answer right away. When he does, it's a careful, "haven't you got one on retainer?"

"This is serious! I'm as much your patient as Dean is."

"I understand that," Cain says calmly. "And I'm more than willing to work through any issues with you as vigorously as I do Dean with his. But I will not break confidentiality unless he is in the room too, and gives me explicit permission. That's how trust between doctor and patient is built."

Castiel collapses back onto the sofa. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... We talked about it last night. I really tried to communicate properly. We were on the same page. We agreed that we wouldn't make any lasting decisions until we'd at least tried to find a good middle ground. I don't know what else to do."

Cain shrugs. "Of course you do. You should have a more concrete discussion. The both of you. By yourselves, no distractions, nothing to hide behind. Lay down the _actual_ goals, rather than just agreeing to make them. But that's harder than anything, so you're both avoiding it. Therefore, I need to ask: which one of you is going to draw his blade first?"

Castiel blinks. "I... why does it have to be me?"

"Why does it have to be Dean?" he returns. 

"Because he's always been the brave one."

Cain is comfortable enough with their professional relationship to roll his eyes and not bother to hide it. "Very well. More questions. Who first pursued who in your relationship?"

"Well... there were a lot of signs that--"

"There's no more time for deflecting, Castiel. Who asked out the other first?"

He sighs. "I asked Dean out first."

"Who suggested the negotiation of kink in your sexual life?"

"You know it was me," Castiel says dryly. "Dean had no experience."

"Very well. Who first said 'I love you'?"

Castiel thinks back. He remembers the moment. He'd been... crying. Naked, sweating, _desperate_ for something. He'd said it. He'd said it first because he'd had to. "I did," he murmurs.

Smiling, Cain asks, "who proposed?"

"I did," he says immediately. He'll never forget that.

Cain folds his hands in his lap. "Since you've been the quick draw so far in regards to so many milestones, why is it so important to you that Dean be the brave one this time?"

He doesn't... he doesn't know. "I think... I'm afraid to push him right now. I hadn't even considered separation at any point, but he... he wanted to save me from a life of being unfulfilled. He understands me too well."

Cain smiles. "It sounds like his heart is in the right place, but perhaps his impatience is a hindrance here."

"That's accurate," Castiel say dryly.

"Well," Cain says primly. "If you'd like my advice?"

"That's what I'm here for," Castiel answers with a hint of humor.

"Then, I'm assuming from your experience that you are intimately familiar with the giving and receiving of power?"

Shoulders pulling up unconsciously, Castiel says, "of course I am."

"Then you need to consider when the power should be yours, his, and joint. Right now, you believe that Dean is going to stick to his rash decision. I happen to agree with you that a larger effort must be made before deciding something as drastic as divorce. And on some level, Dean agrees with you. Therefore, perhaps you should keep control of this situation until such time as Dean begins to take an active part in the process. And to be clear, I'm not suggesting at all that you ignore his needs when they conflict with yours. I'm expecting you to know the difference."

"I can do that," Castiel says firmly.

"Good," Cain grins. "You and Dean are a solid couple. But events like these strain even the strongest of marriages. It's up to you to decide how far you're willing to go to make it work, but I truly believe that you both can get back where you want to be. Moreover, where you need to be. Together."

"That means a lot," Castiel says, throat feeling thick. "Thank you."

"I'm here to help," Cain assures him. "And I have one final suggestion."

The way the corner of his lip quirks into a small smirk makes Castiel uneasy, but he still says, "I'm willing to hear it."

"Right now, physical intimacy is your biggest hurdle. Dean's biggest worry. Take steps to ease his mind." He shrugs a single shoulder. "And the tension, while you're at it. It doesn't have to be sex. But it does have to be _something_ that physically reconnects you. Both of you show a great deal of your love through touch. I've noticed you making those physical connections when you're here together. And when you were in the hospital. Try to bring some of that back and see what happens. You might be surprised at the results."

Just the mention of it makes Castiel's palms itch with longing. "You're right," he murmurs thoughtfully. Then an idea strikes him. "I can do that, yes. I'll work on that tonight."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Castiel can't remember the last time he felt as nervous as his does at this very moment. Not on his wedding day. Not before the first time he'd had sex with Dean. Not ever. No amount of pep talking helps, either. He wants to take steps forward, of course, as Cain had suggested. It's important. And if he and Dean can find a good starting place, then maybe the rest won't seem quite so insurmountable. He knocks on the door and opens it straight away.

Dean's got his laptop open on the bed and is reciting the tongue twisters over and over with the videos Cain had given him. He holds up a finger to stall Castiel for a minute. "Six sleek swans swam swiftly southwards," he recites perfectly, angrily. Five times before he stops, makes a noise of rage, and slams the laptop closed. "Fucking torture," he mutters.

Castiel is smiling. "You're getting so much better," he says lightly.

Dean massages the bolts of his jaw. "Guess so. Wh-what's up?"

He steps further into the room and shuts the door behind him. "Cain gave me homework."

Dean lets out a small laugh. "Y-y-yeah? B-better than mine?"

"I hope so." He holds up his leather shaving kit. "If you're amenable?"

Dean raises his eyebrows in confusion. "I can sh-shave myself."

Shaking his head, Castiel comes to Dean's side of the bed, pleased when he scoots over of his own volition to make a space for Castiel to sit on the edge. He tucks his leg up to face Dean fully and hands him the case. "It's not about that." Tentatively, he reaches out and strokes the tips of two fingers over Dean's cheek, down his neck, his beard soft. Dean's eyes flutter closed briefly, and when they open, they're warmer than they have been.

"Then why?"

"Cain suggested that we might start our joint recovery by re-establishing physical intimacy." He hastens to add, "not sex yet, just touch," when Dean immediately opens his mouth to point out Castiel's former reticence. "I thought I could indulge you a little, if you like? I know how you enjoy an old fashioned shave. I'd... um... we could do something else, of course."

But Dean is starting to look at him like he used to. Starting to smile. "Go for it," he murmurs. "I'm g-game."

Quickly Castiel goes to the bathroom to fill the antique porcelain basin with warm water and grab a handful of towels. As long as he's careful, he won't make a mess in the room. The bathroom is too harsh a setting for homework such as this. He much prefers the warm bedroom and soft lighting. 

Dean has put aside his computer and lap desk and piled the pillows behind him. He takes the bath towel and spreads it out behind his head, one of the hand towels around his neck. Then he winks. "B-b-be gentle with m-m-me."

Recognizing the bravado for what it is, Castiel says, "always." He dips another hand towel in the water, squeezes it out and gently lays it over Dean's face, eliciting a sigh from his husband. Then he arranges the rest of his tools on the bedside table, expertly mixing up the shaving cream. He's never shaved Dean before, or anyone else for that matter, but Dean used to frequent a barber shop for a haircut and shave, so he's familiar with the process.

He removes the damp towel and puts it aside, dipping his fingers into the shaving cream, rather than bothering to use the brush. He uses his clean hand to tilt Dean's chin up.

"Why this?" Dean asks.

"Truthfully?"

Dean arches an eyebrow rather than risking opening his mouth to get shaving cream in it as Castiel starts to apply it in confident, even strokes. 

"I actually... I wanted to do this in a scene with you one day. Or maybe for aftercare. Allowing someone to get so close with such a sharp razor, if they didn't know what they were doing... it's a true test of trust, don't you think?" He pulls back and wipes his hands on the damp towel.

Dean tilts his head in agreement, watching Castiel inspect the straight razor for nicks or dullness.

"I find that amount of trust quite erotic usually, but tonight, I really wish to focus on the trust. The closeness. May I?"

In answer to both meanings, Dean nods. 

Castiel scoots up closer to the edge of the bed, and very slowly works the razor over Dean's face. Wipes it. Shakes it. Repeats. Dean's eyes never leave his, and he remains still as a statue. Time ceases to be so important for a while. 

Castiel can't help the fact that his body is reacting to both being able to touch Dean so freely, if innocently, and also those steady green eyes on him so completely. He finishes the shave with a satisfied smile, warm cheeks, and dabs away the flecks of shaving cream left behind, finishing off with a pat of expensive aftershave.

"Please k-k-k-kiss me," Dean whispers.

Without a thought, Castiel bends down and does so.

Dean's fingers feather over his face. He draws Castiel in closer with gentle pressure, lips parting, tongue flicking briefly into his mouth. Castiel startles. Dean gasps.

Somehow, Castiel finds himself straddling Dean's lap and absolutely _devouring_ him, and _Dean_. Beautiful, desperate Dean, won't let him go for anything. Not like he wants to. He's fairly certain he'd die if he did. There's a wildness to it that neither of them can do much to control. They've never gone more than a few days without having sex until now, so it's an ocean of want between them. And they both _want_ in terrible excess. 

Somehow, Castiel feels like crying. 

But it doesn't stop the momentum. Their kisses are violent, sloppy, bruising things that only stop when they have to break apart to rip off another clothing item until they're totally naked. Then it doesn't stop at all. There's fumbling and lube and _so much blessed skin_. 

Castiel arches his back when Dean's slicked fingers stroke down the underside of his dick, over his perineum, pressing against his entrance. He hisses with pleasure and then whines with impatience when Dean refuses to move. 

Dean chuckles low. "W-want something-g-g, sunshine?"

Castiel's eyes open and he glares ice at his husband, lost thoroughly to the sensations. "I still hate brats." And he sinks down over Dean's stiff finger. " _Ah_ , yes," he moans. He gives a few shallow thrusts of his hips but then stops abruptly to stare at Dean. "Are you sure?"

Dean arches an eyebrow. "About?" he prompts. 

"This," Castiel answers, breathing hard. "You're still healing. And we haven't talked about... I don't want to push you."

Dean shoves his finger in all the way to the knuckle making Castiel cry out. He gives a few rough pumps of his hand until Castiel is shaking above him. "I'm s-s-sure," he answers with an edge. "I won't break. I'm not fr-fr-fragile. If _you're_ not r-r-ready yet, you tell me n-n-now, but don't m-m-make it _about_ m-m-me, 'cause it ain't." He grinds in deeper, swirling around Castiel's tight rim with a second finger.

Castiel's face screws up with pleasure. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, hissing out panting breaths. "You can punish me, Dean. _Please_. Please, Dean, oh please! I've broken all the rules, please!"

"Punish you?" Dean growls.

" _Green!_ " Castiel cries, rolling his hips down for more pressure. "Green, green!"

Dean pushes a second finger in, working past the resistance, knowing it's got to burn.

Castiel shouts a feral sound. "Yes, Dean, more!"

Dean doesn't give Castiel any quarter, since the man doesn't appear to need it. He works his fingers in and out hard. Castiel quakes above him, tears leaking from his closed eyes. But when Dean finds his prostate and massages the bundle of nerves, Castiel jerks and his eyes pop open wide. 

At this point in his recovery, Dean hasn't been able to get hard, though all the medications and pain make it understandable that he can't. However, seeing Castiel sweating, crying, undone above him, causes his dick to try and stir. It only makes him work harder to get him off. Castiel's hips jerk in unsteady movements while Dean's fingers piston in and out of him, alternating with deep, searching presses.

Castiel is louder than he's ever been, trembling on his hands and knees. His breath comes faster and faster and then he throws his head back, moaning Dean's name and coming hard. Thick stripes of come paint Dean's chest and chin. Before Castiel has a chance to turn away, Dean guides him down so they're pressed together again, heedless of the mess.

Dean peppers Castiel's face and lips with adoring kisses. Castiel whispers his name over and over, eyes squeezed tightly shut again, shaking more with emotion than the afterglow.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel face some hard truths about themselves and each other, together and apart. Victor Henriksen has some worrying news.

The first thing that spurs Dean's brain into registering "something's wrong!" is the fact that he wakes up feeling extremely nostalgic. Comfortable. There's a rightness to the wrongness that's plagued him the last month, and it's weird. He almost doesn't want to focus on it, because he's sure that'll it'll just depress him. Everything depresses him. So he keeps his eyes firmly shut. His body is only throbbing dully rather than shooting swords through him. His racing thoughts are calmed for the time being. His evening doses of medication haven't nauseated him. The tinnitus isn't bothering him so much. He's... warm. Safe, somehow.

There's a bassy grumble in his ear.

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, shit. Dean cracks his gummy eyes open. Glances to the side. Castiel is plastered to him, arm thrown over his chest, stirring a little as he resists waking, as usual. _He wanted a nice return of touch and comfort and I ended up fucking his brains out,_ Dean thinks. Jesus. He tries not to feel guilty, but holy shit, he'd overstepped something awful. Castiel had made a perfectly reasonable request and Dean had launched it into the stratosphere. He's trying not to be guilty, but it's creeping back. Along with all the other shit he deals with on the regular now.

He smacks Castiel's arm repeatedly. "W-w-w-wake up, C-c-c-cas. Hey!"

Castiel jumps about a mile, shooting up in bed, awake, but not alert. It's good enough, though. Dean rolls out of the bed in a practiced tumble into his wheelchair, beelining for the bathroom just in time to hang his head over the toilet and wait to see if this will be a bad morning, or a worse morning. 

So far, so good.

Castiel appears beside him a moment later, naked and panicked. "Dean?"

Dean raises his head only enough to get a good look at the bird's nest of Castiel's hair and his owlish shock. God, he's missed that. "'S'okay," he mutters, turning back. "H-h-h-h-happens every-y-y-y-y day. Meds 'n pain." He regulates his breathing. It's getting better.

Castiel begins opening the cabinets one by one. "Where is your Zofran? I'm sure I had it refilled recently."

Dean shrugs.

Castiel shoots him a sour look. "Have you been taking it?"

"No," Dean admits, too done with everything to not be slightly sheepish.

Castiel finds the orange prescription bottle and slams the cabinet door with more force than necessary. "I'll never understand your need to suffer pointlessly. This is why you don't eat breakfast anymore?" He rattles the bottle next to Dean's ear until he grudgingly accepts it with a small glass of water.

"I-i-i-it's fine."

"It's not fine!" Castiel kneels down next to the chair, glaring at his husband. "I didn't notice until last night, but you've lost a lot of weight. That isn't healthy."

Dean glares back, but he's a tiny bit glad to see Castiel channeling his hatred of mornings into this. The worry isn't grating on him today. It's soothing. He puts the maximum dosage under his tongue and uses a small sip of water to kill off the dry mouth.

That satisfies Castiel enough that he stands and leans against the counter and waits, arms crossed. It takes a few minutes, but gradually the hard lines on his face begin to soften. When he speaks again, it's gentle. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"D-didn't b-b-bother me," Dean admits, leaving out the silent _when it's just me by myself_.

"It bothers _me_ ," Castiel answers, pained. "Nothing is more important to me than you, Dean."

"Sorry," he mutters.

Castiel strokes over Dean's bare shoulder apologetically. "Can you move now?"

Dean slowly sits up, gingerly pushing back in his chair. "Yeah," he ventures. "Th-th-think so."

"May I help you back to the bed?"

Tired, hurting, ashamed of himself, Dean gestures with his hand for Castiel to go ahead. Frankly, a little coddling will be nice. He can just tell himself that he's not awake enough to protest. He isn't, anyway. Too much broken sleep is making him perpetually tired. Especially considering it's only four in the morning. Hell, it's still more consecutive hours than he's had in a while.

Plus, Castiel appears to be sticking around regardless. After their nightcap he shouldn't have expected anything else. Castiel pushes the wheelchair back to the bed, Dean having given permission and way too exhausted to fight the perceived indignity. He hauls himself back under the covers, rubbing his eyes. "S-s-sorry to w-w-wake you up."

"It's nothing," Castiel assures him, voice already heavy with sleep again. "I don't mind this, Dean."

He doesn't believe that, but he lets the words sink into him, anyway. They help, true or not. And when he wakes up again, Castiel is still there, the nausea has abated, and it's all okay. 

Especially when some shift from Dean or change in the air, cracks Castiel's eyes into that familiar glare. "It's not morning."

"Sure is, B-b-big guy," Dean smiles. 

Castiel offers up a long-suffering groan to the heavens and rolls onto his stomach. 

"W-w-wanna make out-t-t?" Dean teases, somehow feeling almost light. 

"Do _you_?" Castiel grumbles from the pillow. 

He laughs and Castiel actually turns his head, eyes sparkling in the morning light. "I hate this room. The windows face east."

"You ha-h-h-hate y-y-y-your own m-m-mother this early."

"You know me too well," Castiel murmurs. 

"If th-the new foot w-w-w-works out, wanna m-m-move b-b-back up?"

Castiel bleary eyes widen. "With me? You want to?"

Dean scowls. "D-d-d-don't be a-a-an ass."

Castiel scoots closer. "I'm not trying to be. You said... you said you wanted space. I... I overstepped those wishes last night."

"Kiss me," he demands angrily.

Castiel kisses him. No hesitation.

"C-c-come b-b-b-back to me."

Castiel kisses him again. "As you wish."

Dean snorts. "G-g-g-get me coffee."

Castiel laughs outright, delighted. "Can you handle food?"

"Yeah."

That single confirmation gets Castiel out of bed faster than anything. He tugs on his discarded pajamas and rushes out of the room, Dean's amused gaze following him the whole way.

There's no one in the kitchen when Castiel arrives, so he'll have to fend for himself. He's not a very talented cook, though for whatever reason, he makes perfect toast. He's also good at coffee. His eggs probably wouldn't kill anyone, but he's set the smoke alarm off one too many times to attempt it. Honestly, he's afraid that if he takes too long, the tentative good morning he's found with Dean will go up in smoke faster than his scrambled eggs. It's not a charitable thought, but still possible. 

He settles for a stack of toast, coffee in the French press, strawberries, and a sliced apple. He puts it all on a tray and carries it back to the room, shouldering the door closed again for privacy for when everyone else starts getting up. 

"You cooked?" Dean asks suspiciously. He's sat up while Castiel was away, dressed, and is working his way through his morning doses of medication. 

"Only toast," Castiel assures him. He sets the tray in the middle of the bed between them.

Dean groans. "Grape j-j-j-jam? Really? What th-th-the f-f-f-fuck, Cas?"

Castiel points his butter knife at his husband. "You do not want to start this with me. I brought you apple butter, anyway."

Grinning, Dean slathers his toast and stuffs the whole piece in his mouth just to make Castiel frown some more. 

"If you choke, I'm going to laugh at you instead of doing the Heimlich."

Dean shrugs and continues stuffing his face.

It's so achingly _normal_. Castiel doesn't want to think of it as something like the eye of a hurricane, but the thought won't be pushed away directly. It's a pity that he's forcing himself to hyper-enjoy the light-heartedness while it lasts, but he is, and he will. Stores it up for the next rainy day if and when it comes. But at least he's able to keep his mouth shut and not ruin it for Dean, who seems perfectly happy to be his old, ridiculous self. It's not as effortless as before, but it's a firm step up from how they've been interacting. Forget that it's a development stemming from their nightly activities that shouldn't have happened quite yet. 

Once he's on his second cup of coffee, Dean says, "hey... uh... w-w-would you m-m-mind missing my f-f-fitting today?"

Castiel pauses his own cup at his lips. "You'd prefer I not go?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nah. It's... S-s-sam wants to. T-t-t-too much hovering w-with both'a you."

Well, that's too true to deny, so Castiel says, "if that's what you want, it's fine with me. But if Sam's going, Jack needs to as well."

Dean pulls a face, measuring how worth it an argument would be. It's seemingly not, so he just huffs and eats his apple slices instead. 

Once they're finished with breakfast, Dean kicks Castiel out so that he can bathe and dress. He's not comfortable with Castiel seeing the whole struggle and routine, and Castiel respects that for now. This morning has been far more of a gift than he'd hoped for, so he won't push. Instead, he goes to his room to complete his own morning rituals. 

He takes stock of himself in the bathroom mirror, looking rested for once, worry lines less pronounced. "Don't talk yourself out of this," he warns his reflection.

But of course he does. By the time he's in the shower soaping up his hair, the dull ache around his heart is back. Why did he have such a hard time accepting Dean's good mood? Is it really that fragile? Is _he_ really that fragile? No, neither of them are. However... yes, they both are on some level. They took a leap instead of a step. They can't take it back, but they can definitely pull back to a more sedate pace. Hopefully. The one time that Castiel should have held the control like Cain had reminded him to, he hasn't, and now he's wasting water while ruining a perfectly good morning. 

Disgusted with himself, he shuts off the taps and dries himself off vigorously. He ties the towel securely around his waist and grabs his cellphone. A quick text to Cain settles him. The therapist texts back by the time Castiel is fully dressed in jeans and one of Dean's worn henleys. It says that he has an afternoon appointment open, and Castiel replies that he'll take it. Dean will be at Tran Bionics most of the day, so there's no conflict there.

Lisa has arrived by the time Castiel makes it downstairs. She's sipping a cup of coffee and showing Sam the pamphlets she received from Chuck. He looks like the new Christmas puppy going through them while Dean sits by with a bemused expression. Even Jack is impressed and asking question after question. Castiel plants a kiss on Dean's temple as he passes by and murmurs, "wishing you were taking me instead now?"

Dean barks a laugh. 

"You're not coming?" Lisa asks, looking between Castiel and Dean. 

Noticing Dean's defensive face, Castiel pours himself another cup of coffee, and says smoothly, "too many cooks in the kitchen. Sam hasn't been a part of the process yet, and I'm interested to see how Jack does without me."

Lisa smiles. "You really do consider every angle, don't you?"

Castiel thanks her, noting Dean's incredibly grateful mouthed, "saved my ass." It makes him smile. 

He can do this much. 

Then again, once the group has left, he's got hours to kill before his appointment with Cain, and he's not entirely sure what to do with himself now that he really has nothing pressing to take care of or worry about.

Naturally, that's when he receives a call from Victor Henriksen. "Agent Henriksen," he greets. "What can I do for you?"

"Have a minute?" he asks without preamble. 

"Of course," Castiel answers, going to the office and shutting the door for privacy. He doesn't like the grim tone from the FBI agent. 

"Is Dean with you?"

Castiel puts in his Bluetooth headset and boots up the laptop. "No, he's being fitted for his prosthesis today. Should I call back when he's returned this afternoon?"

"No, it's fine, I'll be sending you the file, anyway. But figured I'd give you some early warning that Michael Pellegrino is getting out on bail thanks to your interview and Dean's written statement."

"What?" Castiel says way too loudly. "How?"

A sigh crackles over the line. "Lucifer confessed to framing Michael as well as to everything that happened with Sam, down to quoting several of his so-called fan letters verbatim. With that confession, the lawyers are moving to have everything but the stalking charges dropped, and he'll be out with time served."

Massaging his forehead, Castiel says, "does that seem wise to you?"

"Hell, no!" Victor answers emphatically. "I never met the guy personally, but his file reads like Lucifer lite, and there's no telling how he'll be after nearly five years in prison during his formative years and a sizable chip on his shoulder. Both he and his brother have this celebrity obsession. Lucifer just stayed free longer to fine tune the details."

Castiel does nothing to stop the anger from percolating. At least it has something to focus on now. "What's the risk to Sam?"

"That's why I called," Victor admits. "I was hoping I could send all this info over and have Dean work out a profile and risk assessment."

"What outcome are you hoping for?" Castiel demands, beyond being delicate. 

"Probation is the lesser of two evils if he's as unstable as I think he is, but what I really want is him committed to a secured psych facility for a full mental assessment. But. Something tells he won't just volunteer."

"No," Castiel agrees. "He'd be afraid of trading one cage for another. All right. I'll have Dean look at everything you send. He'll be happy to work up a profile. Especially if it helps Sam stay safe while he's unable to be out in the field."

Tone changing to more conversational warmth, Victor asks, "how's he doin', anyway? I only spoke with him briefly over Skype when he was in the rehab hospital, but he seemed like a guy I'd share a drink or two with."

Castiel smiles at that. "He's getting better. Slowly but surely."

"If he's not up for it, I understand," Victor assures him. "He's just the best profiler I've run into outside of the BAU here, but they're swamped with serial killers."

Castiel grimaces at the mental image. Then pushes it away. "Frankly, I think Dean would love to have some work to focus on. Dealing solely with his recovery and his lifestyle changes is wearing on him, as necessary as they are or not."

Victor laughs a little. "I hear that. Everyone needs a little normalcy. Reminder of what they're getting back to."

Castiel smiles. "Exactly. Forward everything to the usual joint address. It's encrypted, so it's safe. I'll let Dean know he's got a project waiting for him when he gets home."

"I appreciate the assist," Victor says sincerely.

"It's no trouble. In fact, I believe it'll do Dean a world of good. Thank you." He hangs up the phone and waits for the email with attachments that's quick in coming. Victor had probably just been waiting to hit send. He downloads the documents and puts them on the secure server. Then he sends a text to Dean, even though he won't get it for a few hours, at least. Still, it's something he's been lacking since the accident. Taking an active rather than passive part in their work again can only be a good thing for Dean at this point. Perfect timing. Castiel shuts down the computer, feeling much better as he prepares himself for his appointment with Cain.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

For his part, Cain does not look surprised to see Castiel back in his office so soon. He offers tea and holds his hand out to the couch. This time, Castiel sits down right away.

"I'm assuming we will dispense with pleasantries," Cain notes, taking his own seat and gathering up his tablet.

"If it's not too jarring," Castiel answers.

"He's a smart-ass today," Cain grins. "My favorite. Tell me what's going on."

"I... okay, Dean and I resumed a sexual relationship last night."

Cain has the decency to appear honestly surprised. "Even after our chat?"

"Things got out of hand."

"Is that an understatement?"

"Hopefully not."

"Go ahead and tell me what happened with as much detail as you like. I promise I've heard more strange and graphic experiences than anything you'll tell me."

Castiel appreciates that. "Thank you for saying so. First of all, I suppose I should say that we didn't _really_ do anything involving BDSM. Not exactly."

A heavy eyebrow arches up. "Care to clarify?"

"It was me," Castiel sighs. "We weren't in a scene or anything. But I... I told him to punish me. Called the color green. And... Dean did. Willingly. Enthusiastically. It was intense. Afterwards, I stayed with him overnight and he seemed... happier in the morning."

"Is there something bad about that, in your opinion?" Cain asks. "From where I sit, it sounds like things went quite well. Perhaps faster than I would have suggested, but if the method works, it works. I'm not right all the time."

Scratching at his ear, Castiel says, "I'm not sure whether Dean's mood was completely genuine. Mine wasn't. I..." He pauses to struggle for the right words. "I felt like I was going through the motions, but as soon as I was fully awake, the anxiety... I kept smiling for Dean's sake, but I was overwhelmed with guilt again."

"Was that unexpected?"

"Not completely," Castiel admits. "But it was frustrating. I _wanted_ that old happiness back desperately. But it wasn't there for long."

Cain crosses his legs. "Why do you think that is?"

Castiel leans forward and props his elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his legs. "Lots of reasons. I felt we moved too fast after I'd tried to hard to keep it simple with smaller intimacies. I messed up and went too far. Then I was angry that I couldn't just enjoy it. I worried that Dean was acting the part the same as me."

Nodding thoughtfully, Cain asks, "who initiated the sex?"

"I did," Castiel answers straight away.

"Did you?" Cain counters.

Castiel blinks. "Yes, I... well... Dean asked me to kiss him first. And then... I escalated it."

"Huh," he breathes significantly. "And Dean was a willing participant the entire time? No hesitation? Followed your lead and directions without issue?"

"Yes," Castiel clears his throat. "As far as I can remember. I could be mistaken."

Cain points his stylus at Castiel. "You know, I don't think you _are_ mistaken. Therefore, my question now is, why are you trying to convince yourself that having sex with your husband was a mistake when the both of you expressed a clear and willing desire for it?"

"Because my brain doesn't want me to have anything nice," he mutters.

Cain laughs. "That's probably the most purely honest expression of your feelings that I've heard you say in my office."

He's probably right. "It seems that I'm having a difficult time not screwing up."

"We've talked about catastrophic thinking, haven't we?" Cain asks pointedly.

"Yes," Castiel sighs. "Am I not allowed to wallow for at least a little while?"

Cain grins like the cheshire cat. "No, I think we've done enough of that. How about instead of feeling sorry for yourself, let's talk strategy?"

Castiel sits up. Straightens his back. "Fine. I can do that."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Dean's not really sure if this a good idea or a bad idea. It had seemed okay, but now... his hands are sweating. He's shaking with fatigue. His chest is tight with anxiety. And where the hell is his husband? It's after five and he said he'd had nothing to do. No texts besides the one about the case. Which Dean is ignoring for the time being in favor of giving Castiel his full attention if he ever gets the hell home. He better appreciate all the shit Dean's back burnering for this.

The door handle jiggles and Dean shoots up ramrod straight. "Hey, Cas."

It's almost comical how absolutely still with shock that Castiel goes. Mid-step stopped like he might tip over, hand still on the doorknob. Mouth hanging open. "Dean?"

Dean takes two _extremely careful_ steps forward, hands stretched to the side for balance. Mission accomplished, he drops his hands to his sides. "Miss me?"

"You..." His voice breaks off on a small choked sob. "Dean, you're walking."

"L-l-l-little bit, yeah."

Slowly, Castiel approaches him and holds both his hands out. Instead of taking them, Dean sways closer and cups Castiel's face, wiping gently at his tears. "You cr-cr-cry too much."

"I know," Castiel mumbles. "Dean, you're _walking_."

Dean moves in for a kiss, pressing soundly against Castiel's mouth, leaning heavy on his husband's shoulders. Castiel can obviously sense his exhaustion because he accepts the weight, guiding them towards the bed. The back of Dean's knees hit the edge of the mattress, and he sits hard, relieved. It took everything in him to take a couple of steps, dammit. But as Castiel comes down with him, straddling his thighs, kissing him all the while, it's all worth it, as far as Dean's concerned. 

But then the unexpected happens. Instead of calming down and saying something heartfelt and cheesy like he always does, Castiel starts crying harder. Chest heaving sobs that make it sound like he's about to pass out. And it doesn't seem like it's going to stop any time soon.

Helplessly, Dean hangs on to him, heart pounding. What the hell? Naturally, he has no idea what to do here. Of course the words he could or should be saying, aren't there. All he can do is hold Castiel in silent panic. 

"I'm so sorry," Castiel finally says, nasally and stuffed up as the tears start to abate. 

"For _what_?" Dean asks incredulously. "C-c-c-cas, what's g-g-going o-o-on?"

Castiel leans back enough to see Dean's face, but not pulling away from his lap. His face is wet, eyes and nose red. He looks like the whole goddamn world just crashed down around him. Dean wipes at the salty tear tracks with his palms, but Castiel is still crying and it does no good. How had he fucked this up? More importantly, how does he make it right?

"I'm sorry for all of it," Castiel sniffles. "For everything. I've been trying and I just..." a harsh cough punches from his throat. "I'm so sorry. It all hit me at once, seeing you standing there. It was like... it hit me hard."

"No k-k-kidding," Dean answers, not unkindly. "Say wh-what you need."

"I had another appointment with Cain today. I texted him this morning after I got up. I told him how I messed up last night."

"Dude," Dean protests.

"Dean, I did," Castiel insists roughly. "I keep tossing us off bridges instead of walking over them. It's not fair. And it's not correct. I know... I know you've told me that you don't blame me for all of this, but that doesn't mean it's not my fault. Forgiving me isn't absolving me of responsibility. Even if you're okay with it, I'm not for my part in it. I'm working through it, but every time I think about it..."

Dean can only wait and watch at this point. Castiel's on a roll, and so determined to say what he needs to, consequences be damned, that Dean feels an awful lot like the waves are just breaking over him. 

"Nothing I've ever experienced, or ever will experience, could be as terrible as those four minutes that I lost you because of Lucifer."

Dean's breath catches in his throat. That's the crux of the whole problem. The thing they've never really talked about. Four minutes and everything after. Dean doesn't remember any of it, truthfully. Aside from being shot in the hallway and a day after waking up, he's got no memories of anything. But he knows. He knows he died. He knows that Castiel was there when it happened. He knows that Castiel was the one who tried to revive him. And failed. That's... he can't even imagine. Doesn't want to. Especially knowing how much it's killing Castiel.

"Wh-what can I do?" Dean asks firmly, meeting his husband's eyes without waver. There has to be something. Looking at Castiel like this, Dean has a shock of clarity thinking that nothing he's been through - _nothing_ \- compares to watching the love of your life die. Yes, his life sucks right now, but there's always progress. The pain gets better. His speech improves. He gets an awesome foot. The memory issues disappear. Dean Winchester is getting better. But every time Castiel Novak closes his eyes he sees Dean die and it won't get better. It will always be something that has happened. And it will haunt him.

"I don't know," Castiel says miserably. "Maybe there's nothing that _can_ be done. Time, maybe. It'll dull the memory."

"How b-b-bad is it?" Dean asks with trepidation. 

Castiel touches Dean's lips, drags his thumb down. "I dream about it every night," he murmurs. Dean flinches and Castiel shakes his head. "But you came back to me. I'll also never forget when you opened your eyes for the first time afterwards."

"S-s-s-sorry." It's not nearly enough to say, but it's all he's got.

Castiel's fingers spasm and clench on his face. "No, please! Don't be sorry. You did your job, and you fought harder than anyone to get to where you are. I don't blame you for anything, Dean. If I could take it all away and into me, I would. In a second. You have to know that. I'd do anything for you. Anything you ask. I love you more than anyone."

"I know," Dean murmurs. "Same." He taps their foreheads together. Castiel closes his eyes. Then they just breathe for a long time in silence. Until Dean's stomach rumbles. He huffs.

At length, Castiel says, "Benny's making gumbo. Do you want to come downstairs, or should I bring you some?"

"I-I-I'm walked out," Dean admits. 

"Can I eat with you?" Castiel asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," Dean agrees immediately. It'll help. It's a small thing, but it _will_ help.

Castiel nods and slides off of Dean's lap and out of the bed. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Dean watches him go with a smile, but it crumbles the second that Castiel is out of sight. Damn. He rubs at his face. He'd never realized it was this bad for his husband. Everything he's been dealing with. Just _looking_ at Dean brings back the worst memory of his life. He's struggling as hard as he can against it, but it's the root of everything. The reason why Castiel won't even think about reintroducing kink into their relationship. Why he hesitates at every touch. Why he watches Dean so carefully and with constant worry. Why even the progress makes him cry, and not with happiness. Suddenly the guilt makes perfect sense. Why he can't let it go no matter how much Dean forgives him. It's not about forgiveness. It's about Castiel's own trauma and his ability to get beyond it. If he can. 

Dean glances to his nightstand where he's tucked away the divorce decree. It doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility as it had yesterday. In fact, it might be the one thing that keeps Castiel from destroying himself. He'll sit on it for now, but even so, he recognizes it for the ace up his sleeve that it is.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean confronts his feelings. Castiel takes issue with it.

"Charlie," Dean gripes, trying to look over his shoulder, but almost losing his balance in the attempt. "What the hell a-a-are you doing b-b-back there?"

"Getting pictures of the tech!" she answers enthusiastically. "So cool, btw."

"Y-y-you can't post 'em," he reminds her moodily. Then mutters, "this is wh-why I don't d-d-do shorts."

"I won't!" she insists. "Wonder if I could wire them for sound? You could have a theme song following you around."

"You're fired, B-b-Bradbury."

She scoffs. "No, I'm not, grumpy puss. At least not until your family gets back."

"Y-y-you're sup-p-p-posed to be spotting me," he continues to grouch and she traipses around to Dean's front between the balance bars. "D-d-don't need a d-d-damn babysitter," he mutters five seconds before he takes a bad step and topples forward right into her arms.

She grins, winks, and magnanimously says nothing about it as she gets him back on his feet and walking again. After a few more back and forths, she says, "why didn't you go with them, anyway? It's just a press junket. Only four days."

"They hover," Dean answers.

Charlie purses her lips, nodding like that's the most appropriate answer. "Guess I can understand you wanting to fly solo. The foot's working out, though, right?"

"L-l-l-little weird, but it's fine w-w-with the cane," he allows. In fact, it's better than fine. It's better than he'd hoped in only a week. He still stumbles a lot, but he'd managed to go up and down the stairs several times, make his own lunch, and not die of fatigue. Of course, the pressure on the limb and working his muscles as he hasn't in almost two months now has required the heavy hitting painkillers again. And those aren't always conducive to walking straight. But he's getting there. And Charlie is far too cheerful to actually get mad at without feeling like a total idiot. He can tolerate her for a few days.

He appreciates her assist and she's more than happy to hang out at the house unobtrusively even when Dean's finished with his PT and back upstairs in the office. He's glad she's here.

Glad his family is away.

It's not like Dean is fine with any of this; he's not. Never really has been. But love isn't everything, as much as anyone would want it to be. He's seen people do a lot of shitty things in the name of love. Hell, Lucifer and Michael have a twisted kind of love for Sam, and look where _that_ got everyone caught in the cross hairs.

It sucks to love someone and also be the source of their misery. There's not a lot Dean can do about that. He wishes he could magic it away, or somehow have the right words to make it all better. But PTSD doesn't work that way. Castiel is going to get far enough beyond it to make do, or he isn't. In some ways, Dean got lucky being the one to get hurt. If he'd been in Castiel's place, fuck he'd barely be able to look him in the eye either. 

At least there's work to be done in the interim. It hadn't been hyperbole when Victor had said he was sending everything he had. The substantial file on Michael paints a pretty grim picture.

He'd been screwed from the get-go. Classic absent father, unfit mother taking her anger at her husband walking out on her kids. 

From a young age, the abuse had been well-documented. Physical and mental. A court appointed psychologist had suggested that the brothers had taken refuge in television and movies as a method of escape. Their love of their favorite characters had morphed into obsession with the actors. Especially after a run of group homes and finally put into foster care. The foster parents had been okay from all accounts, but the damage to the brothers had already been done.

The surprising part is that their obsessions with famous people over the years have crossed race and gender barriers. Lucifer even had a year when he'd been mooning over J-Pop singers. The lack of a type had made them pretty hard to keep a bead on in the past. Dean gets why they weren't caught for anything worse than B&E's and vandalism before they'd escalated to violence.

Michael had finally been caught for Lucifer's crimes stalking and assaulting an actress just at the cusp of her fame, much the same as what almost happened with Sam.

Dean scrolls through the incident report on the actress, flinching at the hospital's photos of her injuries. The police report says that she'd been at a convention, the same as Sam, and Lucifer and Michael had managed to sneak onto her hotel room's floor. Then they'd waited to attack. The actress had ended up with a busted face and both wrists broken when she'd tried to call for help. Dean's surprised to find no evidence of sexual assault, but that tracks with Lucifer's stalking of Sam.

In several of his letters, including the ones to his first victim, he'd been highly concerned with the so-called "purity" of his love for them. Having sex with them would probably have been defiling that love in his mind. His mother had been a religious zealot after her mental problems had warped that, too.

The addendum to the report is Victor's recent interview with Michael. He reports that Michael had helped his brother restrain the actress, but had become overwhelmed by her presence in real life, and bailed shortly thereafter. He'd run from the scene and not reported it, so that was good enough for jail time, but he hadn't done the things that he'd been convicted of. However, Lucifer was as manipulative as his mother, and had convinced his brother that he'd find them a new love and share it when Michael was released. If he'd only do this one little thing to keep him out of jail to continue their work. There would be no one to love them back if they were both behind bars.

It had worked for a time.

Of course, familial love only goes so far. When Lucifer had attempted to tie a host of other minor assaults and stalking charges to Michael after his arrest, Michael had caved. Now he's about to be released. 

Even with his brother locked up, it probably isn't a good thing to leave him unmonitored, at least for a time. Michael had received some counseling in prison, but not nearly enough to ensure that he won't just fall back into his old ways.

Dean agrees with Victor's assessment that Michael should be turned over to a mental hospital for evaluation pending his release from prison. Obsessive behavior doesn't just go away on its own after four years and good behavior in jail. Add that to the anger over his brother's betrayal, Michael's a wild card.

Dean can only hope that his profile helps keep him off the streets until he can be trusted, if ever. In deference to that, he spends most of the night going through every last sentence of the information that Victor's sent so that he doesn't miss a thing. The Pellegrino brothers have caused enough suffering. He'll take as much time as he needs.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Sam is asleep the second his head hits the pillow, which doesn't surprise Castiel in the slightest. He'd had a lot of explaining to do, questions to answer, and a long, emotionally draining interview about the accident to do. And that was before the press junket even started in the afternoon. Guy's been going for nearly twenty-four hours on no sleep, and practically ripped himself open wide talking about the ordeal with Dean. Castiel hopes he at least has pleasant dreams.

He closes the bedroom door softly, tugging at his tie and kicking off his shoes.

"Sam's out?" Jack asks happily, looking fresh as a daisy. Ah, youth.

"He'll sleep all night, no problem," Castiel answers. "Gabriel will take care of the rest to ensure that it's all aired without bias. He's had a fire lit under him."

Grinning, Jack says, "Your family is wonderful."

Castiel claps him on the shoulder. "You should get some rest, too. You did wonderfully today."

Jack shrugs. "I don't feel like I sleep much."

Of course not. The kid is made of energy. "I don't feel like I sleep at all." He's been feeling really old for a while.

"I'll take first shift," Jack says gamely. "I know you don't like mornings, but you look really tired."

He feels as tired as he looks. "Thank you, Jack. Shall we work the shift for six hours, or should we go four?"

"Six is fine. Good night, Castiel."

Castiel pulls up the handle on his rolling suitcase. "Good night, Jack." He opens the door to the adjoining room, and slips through, leaving it cracked. Jack is incredibly quiet, so it'll be no issue for him to fall asleep. Plus, a small part of him doesn't feel like being all together alone.

He heaves the suitcase onto the bed and unzips it. Right on top is something he hadn't packed. It's a legal envelope with a piece of notebook paper taped to the outside. He picks it up and turns it over. He sure that he hadn't forgotten to finish any important paperwork before he left. Instead of reading the note, he unclasps the brads securing the envelope. There's a thick stack of papers inside, but he only needs to see the first page. _Petition for Dissolution of Marriage_ it reads.

Castiel's heart lurches. No. No, this can't be right. They'd _talked_ about this. They'd decided not to pursue this, hadn't they? Had Dean changed his mind?

At a loss, Castiel tosses down the envelope and unfolds the piece of notebook paper. He blinks back the burning in his eyes at Dean's block writing, slightly shaking still thanks to his head injury and medications.

_Cas,_

_If you looked inside the envelope before reading this letter, you're probably mad and just want to tear it up and call me to yell a lot. Please don't. Please read the rest of this before you get too upset. I've got a lot to say, and I really need you to take it in. I know I should talk to you directly about this, too, but with the way my brain and mouth are working right now, this is the best way for me to say what I need to._

_If you haven't looked in the envelope yet, I've had divorce papers drawn up._

_I'm not saying we should go for it right now. Maybe not ever. What I am trying to say is that I love you enough to do this in order to make you happy, if it will some day. I don't know if it will or won't, but I do know that right now everything about us is making you unhappy._

_I can't give you much to make it better. But I can do this for you. I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. You can sit on this as long as you want. I want you to know that I understand where you're coming from. Love is great until it kicks you in the nuts every day._

_That's why this isn't about you loving me or me loving you. Because I do love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. That's why I can give you these papers. I wouldn't be strong enough to otherwise because I know you'll make the best decision._

_You said the vows we took were the most important to you, but Cas, we never promised "together forever in misery." That's what people who don't love each other enough to make each other happy do. If your happiness isn't with me in the long run, I can get square with that. Just be honest with me and yourself. That's all I'm asking. I can get over a broken heart eventually. I can't get over breaking you._

_Whatever you decide to do I'll always have your back because you were always my partner, and I will willingly give you anything you need. Remember that._

_Love,_

_Dean_

Castiel folds the letter back up. Creases it with his thumbnail. Sets it gingerly on the bed beside him. Then he picks up the envelope and upends the stapled papers into his lap. Reads every word of them. 

He doesn't really start hurting until he reaches the section that divides their assets. Dean's left him everything important. Made absolutely sure that nothing Castiel brought to the marriage leaves without him. And even things like their joint annual bonus goes all to Castiel. 

Because Dean thinks he's broken him. 

He's definitely broken, but not by Dean. Not _because_ of Dean. It's because he hasn't been fighting hard enough to get out of his head and see the reality and the trauma as two separate things. Blaming himself for Dean's trauma. Insisting that Dean is better off without Castiel trying to ruin their lives further.

It's foolishness. 

Everything in the divorce decree is tangible. Things they have together. The life they've built together. The things they've done together. It's the important parts of themselves. Why does the trauma have to win? Why is it more important than all the good they've built? Why is the bad winning enough that it gets split into two neat parts on a legal document?

Castiel yanks at the papers, but he doesn't rip them. Dean's serious about this. His signature is on the final page. This is also important to him. And all Castiel has to do is show him something more important.

If his goddamn brain will let him.

His trauma is trying to tell him that this is an acceptable loss. His soul disagrees. 

Despite the hour, Castiel puts the papers back into the envelope and goes to Sam's room. He knocks on the door and opens it.

Sam is sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Cas? Everything okay?"

"I'm sorry to wake you," Castiel says first off. "But I need to speak with you now. It can't wait."

Sam turns on the bedside light, alert and worried. "What happened?"

Castiel gives him the envelope. "Did Dean tell you about this?"

Sam's eyebrows shoot up when he reads the first page. His shock is obvious and genuine. "Dean did this?" He waves the papers angrily. "Why would he do this?"

Wordlessly, Castiel also passes Sam the letter. He's sure that Dean will be upset when he finds out that Sam's read it, but now isn't the time to think about that. There's an entire future at stake. And despite the fact that they're married, Dean knows his brother better than Castiel does in a lot of ways. A lifetime with a sibling will do that. Therefore, Castiel is counting on Sam to have some insight that might be helpful to counteract the absolute hopelessness that's been rapidly overtaking everything else in Castiel's head.

"That self-sacrificing son of a bitch!" Sam growls. "This is... Cas, you can't let him do this!"

Castiel sits heavily on the edge of the bed next to his best friend. "That's just it. I'm not _letting_ him do anything."

"Except make a unilateral decision about the rest of your lives together. Or lack thereof."

"He snuck it into my suitcase," Castiel argues, mildly insulted. "I didn't even know it was there until a half an hour ago."

Sam gives him an aching look. "You're not gonna go through with this, are you? I mean, Dean's not right about this, is he?"

He can't in good conscience lie and tell Sam that everything will be fine no matter what. He has to let the entire truth settle and see where they're at. "He's not saying anything that's not true," he starts, and Sam's face crumbles. "But, I'm not ready to admit defeat, either."

"You don't want a divorce?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Not like this. What I mean to say is, Dean's looking much further out than where I am right now. What he said... it's true that maybe I'll only be able to relive the trauma forever. Maybe I won't be able to get beyond it. I haven't been trying for long enough to know. But I _do_ know that I'm not in a place to say for sure what the outcome will be. And I also know that I don't want to stay that way. Sam, I love Dean with everything in me. I can't just let him go because things are hard six weeks after a life changing event. If I did... then I would deserve to be miserable forever."

During his speech, Sam's face had been easing back into cautious optimism. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Castiel flinches just a little bit. "Is there any way to not make this worse?"

Sam scratches his fingers over his scalp, messing his hair further. "For real? I don't know. Sometimes when Dean gets stuck on something, he can't get talked out of it. Maybe he's expecting you to sit on this for a while. You can you know. If it matters to you, I wouldn't judge you at all."

Castiel sighs, hanging his head. "Is that your advice?"

Huffing a laugh, Sam says, "not really. I'd most like to tell you to throw those papers back in Dean's face. He's seriously leaping forward."

"Is it bad that I understand where he's coming from?" Castiel asks wryly.

"No," Sam answers sadly. "I get it. I do."

"I wish he would have said _something_ unreasonable so that I could argue it better. But he didn't. He's really thought about this and his argument is valid. Besides, what can I say against his true feelings? All I can do is be responsible for my own thoughts and feelings."

"As long as you don't cave to please him. 'Cause lemme tell you something. Dean is expecting the worst right now. But... um..." He pauses for a minute, Piquing Castiel's interest. His voice gets quiet, embarrassed. "You... you're the one with the control, right?"

Castiel startles, body flashing hot with embarrassment, but he doesn't want to assume... "I..." he clears his throat. "What are you talking about?"

Sam scratches at his ear. Pushes his hair out of his face. "I kinda... I've kinda suspected that you and Dean do... uh... like, extra stuff? Like, in private? I don't need details or anything, but I've seen Dean with... jeez... bruises? And he... rubs at them and smiles." He gulps and rushes to finish, "and please don't think I'm trying to butt into your sex life. Go ahead and correct me if I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong," Castiel says slowly, unsure how to cure the joint humiliation. "Is that an issue to you?"

"No!" Sam protests loudly. "Hell, no! I mean, if it works for you and makes you happy, I got nothing to say about it at all! No judgement here. But can't you like... use that?"

Castiel purses his lips, about to fall into a lecture, but quickly remembers that Sam has no experience in this. His question isn't unreasonable for someone totally on the outside. "It's not like that," he says, choosing his words carefully. "Dean and I... not to get graphic... but what we do as far as a dominant/submissive relationship, is only in the bedroom. We have strict set of rules that we follow only during pre-arranged scenes. And it's not all the time, either. Outside of that? I've got no more control than he does."

Sam looks down at the letter again. "Yeah, that makes sense but... you know... from this?" He waves the piece of paper. "Again, I'm not pretending to know anything about it, but it seems like Dean is looking for that guidance. For you to take control and decide."

"Him asking me to make the hard call is different," Castiel says.

"'Course it is," Sam agrees, "but that doesn't make it untrue. I'm not telling you to manipulate him or anything. That's not right. But I _am_ saying that as the submissive person here, maybe Dean can't turn it all off as easily as you're saying he should. Ideal and reality, y'know?"

"I know," Castiel admits. "It could be possible. However, what I _do_ know is that I'm not signing those papers in the near future. I can't. Unless Dean demands it, I can't."

"Good," Sam says. "I'm with you. Don't let him push you away. Once he's decided that he's poison, Dean'll roll with that. Don't let him do that to himself, or to you."

"I won't." Castiel takes the folder back and tucks it all away. Then he stands and walks back to the door. "Thank you, Sam. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't even," Sam scoffs. "This is important. I'm totally cool with it. Are you? You haven't slept at all."

"I'll be fine," Castiel says. "I'll compartmentalize until later." 

"Just don't push it away."

"That's not possible," Castiel assures him. "I'll see you in a few hours." He turns back. "Please don't confront Dean about this."

Sam slides back down under the covers and switches the light off. "I won't breathe a word about it unless I see one of you assholes packing your bags."

Castiel smiles. "That's acceptable." He returns to his room and puts the papers back into his suitcase. He doesn't bother to shower; simply grabs his pajamas and changes. He shoves the suitcase to the other side of the king sized bed, too tired to deal with anything else. At the last minute, his fingers touch on cold metal. He draws out Dean's mutilated anklet, turning it over in his fingers and bringing it close to his chest. It's a ritual now, turning it over in his hands, stroking the scratched, ruined surface. It comforts him greatly.

It dawns on him that he has no clue how to face Dean after this. He's not afraid of his husband. Far from it. But, at the same time, what is he supposed to say? What is he expecting? What is _Dean_ expecting? Last he knew, they left in a better place than they had been. Sharing their room again, talking, touching. It had felt like they'd been closer. But with a divorce hanging over their heads? Even theoretical? It's weird. Hard to handle. He can't act like everything's the same, because it's not. The best he can do is follow Dean's lead and feel it out. It's something. It's not comforting, but it's _something_.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

As it turns out, Castiel doesn't even have to wonder how to treat Dean once he gets home, because Dean's not there for the time being. Castiel would like to think that it's not pure avoidance, but it probably at least partially is. Not that he's ungrateful, either.

He goes straight to the upstairs bedroom, and even though it's clean and almost anally tidy, he knows that Dean's been sleeping there. His glasses are on his nightstand, and his laptop is on top of the comforter. So at least he hasn't _completely_ run away. His text to Sam says he's gone for a checkup at the hospital and then PT with Lisa since he'll already be there and there's no point to them both coming back to the house for it.

At least Dean's being productive when he's avoiding the situations he's wrought.

And Castiel can be patient. He slings his suitcase onto the bed and unzips it, sorting the clean and dirty laundry. He's hanging his suit shirts into the closet and making his return trip when he notices a file folder on Dean's night stand. The label says, "Pellegrino." Interesting. That's something to look at while he's waiting. Something that won't bother Dean to have been found.

In fact, he's impressed to see how thorough Dean's been on the profile in the last few days. He's combined and tweaked what they've gathered about Lucifer and added a nearly-full profile for Michael as well. It looks like he's got everything set for a great case against letting Michael out without supervision. It's amazing. Dean's talent at profiling will never fail to amaze him.

Castiel sits on the bed, thumbing through the pages twice. He sees so much of his husband in all of this. The complex way that his mind works. The way he understands people he hasn't even met, which shouldn't be possible, but to people like Dean, it is. His insight. His brilliance. His absolute devotion to his work and his life.

Suddenly, losing all of this seems a lot worse than keeping the four most awful minutes of his life. If his trauma wins, he'll never be happy. He'll never be able to get beyond anything.

"Hey, Cas," a voice says heavily hesitant by the door.

Castiel realizes he's been frozen standing over his suitcase. Slowly he trades the folder for the envelope. Turns on his heel. "I don't want these," he says to Dean.

Dean shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, shifting his weight, and it looks natural with the high tech foot. "I don't, e-e-either," he mumbles.

"I don't like your self-sacrificing... there's no nice word for it, so I'll say 'bullshit.'"

Dean's eyes flash, jaw twitching. "Cas, it ain't l-l-like that."

"How the hell is it, then?" Castiel growls. He smacks the envelope with the back of his free hand. "We talked about this, didn't we? We agreed to no rash decisions. We agreed to work on this!" As much as he'd like to, he can't stop himself from raising his voice.

Dean's shoulders only hunch further. "We _are_ w-w-working on this. Didn't yy-you even read-d-d the letter?"

Castiel rips it off the front of the envelope and shakes it out angrily. "Oh, this?" he sneers. "This lovely Dear John that you couldn't be fucked to tell me directly?" He needs to calm down, but Dean's resigned unhappiness only irks him further.

"W-w-w-wouldn't've w-w-worked. W-w-with..." he gestures to his mouth. "Th-th-th-this."

He breaks so hard on the last word, throat muscles jumping, that Castiel's irritation evaporates. He tosses the papers away and strides over to Dean, taking his hands. They're trembling worse than usual. "You can do this, Dean," he says softly. "It gets better when you're calm. Take your time. I'd really rather hear it from you. No matter how long it takes. I didn't... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

Dean shakes his head.

Castiel squeezes his hands harder. "I wasn't even angry when I read the letter and saw the papers. I got overwhelmed for a second. I can't stand the thought of losing you because of this. I can't imagine getting beyond it."

Dean breathes in and out a few times. "Can we sit?"

Castiel lets Dean set the pace as they cross the room together. Dean says nothing, but looks grateful when he eases himself onto the foot of the bed. 

"Do you like the foot?" Castiel asks after a moment, not sure about the protocol for asking such a question.

"Yeah," Dean answers, stretching his leg out and gingerly flexing it. "Works good s-so far."

Refusing to release Dean's hand, Castiel pulls it into his lap, thumbing over his knuckles. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"So am I," Dean admits. "I d-don't wanna call this off. But if you n-need..."

Castiel touches Dean's chin. Draws him closer until his forehead is resting against Dean's temple. "I need _you_. That's always been the case. I'm scared. You're scared. We've both been dealing with trauma, guilt, horrible things. But we need to stop doing this alone, especially when we say we're not going to. I'm not better off without you, and I won't ever be. So we need to start actually doing what we're saying we're going to."

"B-b-but I..."

Blue eyes lock on to green when Castiel moves to face him more fully. "You made me think about a lot of things, Dean. And what's stuck out in my mind the most is that I'd rather have you, than the heartache of thinking my trauma is more important than us being together. And... if you feel the same, then I'm not going to sign those papers. But don't think you're doing me any favors by giving me an out. I won't take it. I don't want to. I'm sure I'll never want to."

Dean bumps their noses together, only a breath away. "I dunno. C-can I...?"

"You can take all the time you need," Castiel assures him tenderly. "I'm not going anywhere. However, may I request in the meantime, we keep healing? Together now?"

Dean nods, moving his head just a hair to the side. Asking permission. 

Castiel kisses him on the mouth, slow and searching, and Dean responds in kind. It's a chaste thing, but very much needed. A confirmation that all the love is still there. And that breeds hope. And conviction. 

When Castiel prays that night before going to sleep, they are words of thanks. And for the first time in weeks, those words are genuine.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain gives Dean and Castiel solid advice in their joint session, which they follow to the letter.  
>   
>  _ **This chapter is NSFW!**_  
>  I AM SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG! HOPEFULLY THE SMUT MAKES UP FOR IT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  graphic depictions of Dean's healing injuries  
> hand jobs  
> oral sex  
> fingering

Castiel and Dean sit side by side on Cain's sofa, holding hands, facing him with twin expressions of grim determination.

"So," Cain ventures like he's tip-toeing through a field of landmines, "who wants to begin?"

Castiel and Dean glance at each other. Castiel lifts an eyebrow. Dean lifts a shoulder. Castiel says to Cain, "Dean and I would like to resume our sexual relationship again, please."

Dean snorts. "Dude."

"What?" Castiel demands moodily. "He's our therapist. His advice is of the utmost importance."

"You d-d-don't need to ask-k-k his _permission_ ," Dean returns.

"Why not?" Cain beams. "I feel like a very proud father right now."

"Fuck off," Dean grouches. "We just wanna k-k-know if you think it's a g-g-good idea or not."

"Do _you_?" Cain asks.

"Yeah," Dean answers immediately. "I'm horny. I'm off the m-m-meds making me limp."

Castiel pats Dean's hand. "That's not really a proper reason to resume."

"Is it not?" Cain queries innocently.

"Of course not!" Castiel exclaims.

"Good enough f-for me," Dean says almost on top of him.

Cain turns to Castiel. "Are you ready?"

Feeling like the conversation will get away from him extremely quickly if he doesn't slow it down and let them all think, Castiel hesitates. The clock over the door clicks several times and then, "I'm unsure," he answers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Dean's very persuasive, and I..." he shrugs his shoulders, sinking into the cushions. "I really don't know."

"This won't work unless you both are in complete agreement," Cain points out. Dean huffs through his nose. Castiel nods. "What's brought this on? You haven't had a joint session in a while. And in your separate sessions, it hasn't seemed like either of you has been ready for this step yet."

They'd already talked about - and agreed upon - what they were going to bring up in the session, though when Castiel says, "Dean gave me divorce papers," it really hurts to admit, further from it after a few days or not. 

Cain raises his eyebrows. "So, you really did go through with it?" When Dean nods he asks, "what's the status on that, then? I'm getting some mixed signals, I suppose."

Castiel smiles despite himself. "We have decided to put them aside for now. We spoke about it extensively over the past few days and we realize that we have a lot of work to do. Of that, we're under no illusion. However, we also believe that sex may be one of the biggest hurdles."

"Tell me about that," Cain encourages.

"C-Cas is afraid of th-the kink," Dean explains succinctly.

"Ah," Cain says with clarity. "We've discussed this privately, haven't we, Castiel?" When Castiel nods, he adds, "are you comfortable bringing those concerns up with Dean present?"

"Yes," Castiel says with no hesitation. "None of that is off limits. It's best if Dean knows everything. And I'm comfortable with that. I don't want to keep secrets. They can only be harmful at this juncture."

Cain nods thoughtfully, but his smile is still bright. "You'd be surprised at how few people realize that, and more so actually walk the walk."

Shrugging, Castiel says, "Dean's more important to me than my ego." Dean's fingers tighten around his briefly. 

"W-we need s-s-some exposure therapy or something." He's only half joking, but Cain looks pleased.

Cain makes a few notes on his tablet. "Far be it from me to discourage intimacy. Especially if the both of you agree that it will help. I say go for it, but perhaps with some caveats."

"I've b-been medically cleared," Dean says, eyebrows furrowed.

Cain nods. "Yes, I assumed as much. This isn't about your physical condition. I trust you both to know the boundaries of that and not to cross them just to set yourself back for a good orgasm or two." He shrugs. "Or ten. I'm not judging your stamina."

Dean barks a laugh and Castiel's face burns hot. "I'm becoming extremely uncomfortable," Castiel mutters.

"I do apologize," Cain says, though he doesn't sound very apologetic. "But a certain manner of bluntness is necessary in this situation. You don't have to provide me with all the gory details, but I do need to ask some... sensitive questions."

"Shoot," Dean answers immediately. Castiel's face twists, but Dean just holds his hand tighter and leans in to ghost his lips across his temple. "I'll talk," he murmurs.

Castiel's discomfort eases slightly, shoulders relaxing, and the ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Thank you."

Cain doesn't even look embarrassed to witness their affection as he beams at the both of them. "So, in regards to kink. What's the time table on that?"

Both Castiel and Dean give him twin confused looks. "It h-h-happens when it happens," Dean says, voice pitching up more like a question.

Shaking his head, Cain clarifies, "I mean, how soon after resuming sexual activity will you feel compelled to re-introduce BDSM? Is it something that you could hold off on indefinitely, or is it required frequently for you both to feel fulfilled in that area?"

"I like it, b-b-but I don't need it l-l-like Cas does," Dean answers first. Regretfully he says to Castiel, "I can't answer f-f-for you on this."

Castiel smiles. "I know." He clears his throat. "I can't give you a definitive answer since I've never been in this situation before, but how I feel?" He taps himself on the center of his chest and Cain hums in the affirmative. "I feel that it's worth it to wait as long as I need to in order to keep my marriage intact. Regardless of when Dean and I begin having sex again, there will be things we can and can't do. There are lasting injuries that we can't ignore and still be safe about it."

Dean's face starts to fall, but Castiel pats his knee comfortingly. "It takes as long as it takes to establish a baseline. I'm fine with that. And I'm also fine with limitations. There have always been limitations to what you wanted and what I was willing to do. If we can do any of it at all, I'll be content."

Cain points his stylus between the both of them. "And both of you are in agreement that kink is necessary to sustain your marriage?"

"Yes," Dean says quickly before Castiel can even try to answer. "It's p-p-part of who Cas is. I'm cool with-th-th that."

"Is that so?" Cain prompts. 

"Yeah," Dean says firmly. "Wh-when me 'n Cas got together, we both h-h-had deal breakers. Th-things we can't live without. Not just shit we can compromise on. I will al-l-l-always respect that."

"I agree," Castiel says softly. "If it was one of Dean's deal beakers, I would be saying the same things as him with just as much determination. I just..." he looks over to Dean, holds his sincere gaze. His eyes soften sadly, and Dean responds with silent understanding. "I just hate that it's me," he finishes, lips trembling slightly.

"We're gonna figure it out," Dean promises. 

More silence, and Castiel is suffused with more profound love than he's ever felt for anyone. And since he's so incapable of masking his emotions, he can tell that Dean sees it by the way his eyes warm, deepening the crows feet around them and slightly stretching the pink scars on his cheeks. 

Cain asks, "should I keep letting you both pretend I'm not here for a moment, or are we ready to do some work?"

Castiel's grin is sudden and unexpected. Dean winks. They both turn back to Cain. 

"Okay," Dean says. "Tell us al-l-l about our new sex life."

"Happily!" Cain says lightly. "Now, remember, you don't have to answer any of my questions or tell me anything you're uncomfortable with. I can work with whatever you're both willing to share. Just tell me if I pry too much, all right?" After Dean and Castiel nod their understanding, he continues, "have you seen each other naked in a non-caregiving way since returning home?"

"No?" Castiel ventures. "Even that night we... I don't think so?"

Dean shakes his head. "Don't think so."

"Well, I think that should be the first step," Cain says. "Now, you can do this one of two ways. First way: with sexual intent. Undress each other, touch each other, but get completely nude. The both of you need to become familiar with Dean's body and the new normal it presents. I don't believe either of you had faced that yet. Castiel, you need to fully appreciate the changes you see and touch. Dean, you need to see how far your self-consciousness goes, so that you can get beyond it. You weren't body shy before, so I've no doubt it won't be a long process."

Dean absently rubs at his knee.

"You're right," Castiel admits, acutely ashamed. "I haven't faced any of it beyond what was necessary in the first few weeks."

Dean doesn't seem to know how to respond.

Cain, thankfully, is an expert at easing minds without platitudes or lies. "Is not unexpected," he assures them both. "Especially when it's difficult enough learning how to balance your life after such an upheaval. But the reintroduction of sex takes a conscious effort, not just allowing nature to take its course. Frankly, my suggestion is that you approach it in a more clinical way. Take down those barriers once and for all, and see what happens. But also realize that if it doesn't lead to sex the first time, that's okay. The second way would be simply to experience that same intimacy, only without the goal of sex until you're completely ready. Either way, a step forward is still a step forward."

Dean readjusts his position on the sofa, unconsciously moving slightly away from Castiel.

"Not sitting easy, is it?" Cain says. "Pun not intended."

"No," Dean says. "I... it's... I've been av-v-voiding that."

"That's understandable," Cain says. "But after hearing my take, are you willing, or still not ready?"

"I want to."

"Castiel?"

"Yes," he says steadily. "Anything Dean's ready for."

Cain beams. "All right, then! I suppose you two have homework, then!"

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Once home and having had time to process their session over the day, both Dean and Castiel admit that patience isn't one of their virtues in this regard. While they agree that rushing anything will only lead to more problems, the longer they wait, the more stressful it will be. So once Sam and the rest of the household have turned in for the night, Castiel trails behind Dean as he carefully uses his cane to walk up the stairs. He's left his prosthesis on for the majority of the day, and he's still not used to wearing it for such a long period of time. But as Cain had suggested, Castiel needs to be there to experience the entire routine instead of ignoring it. Participate, if he wants to. Facing reality is the only way to move forward, after all.

Dean shuts and locks the bedroom door, but doesn't turn around immediately, hand pressed to the wood. His whole upper body moves with his deep breath in.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks, holding himself back to give Dean some space.

"Yeah," Dean breathes. "Just... n-n-nervous."

"We can wait," he says uncertainly.

"Won't matter," Dean grunts. 

Slowly, Castiel steps up behind him and places his hand in the center of his back. _Too tense,_ he thinks. Then again, Castiel is the same. He's not sure how to ease any of the strain that they're both under. How should he approach it? More as a husband? More as a Dom? Both? Neither? "I'm nervous, too," he murmurs. "Perhaps... maybe a give and take?"

Dean turns around, but Castiel leaves his hand as a point of contact, fingers sliding over his arm to rest against his chest. "How?"

"We can start simple. What helps you the most to relax after a long PT day like today? Does Lisa do anything for you that I could do instead?"

Dean purses his lips. Then an unhurried smile starts to overtake his face, lighting up his eyes in a playful way that it hasn't done in a month of Sundays. "Massage," he says simply.

Castiel's eyebrows tick up. "Oh?"

Dean rolls his shoulders in an exaggerated movement. "M-m-mostly my legs, but..." he trails off suggestively.

Castiel chuckles. Pitching his voice lower, he says, "I can do that."

Limping noticeably after all the walking they've done, Dean leans on the cane all the way to the bed where he sits down heavily and then tosses the cane to the side for one of them to trip on later. Castiel retrieves the sandalwood and ginger massage oil from his bedside table and then sits beside Dean cross-legged. He holds his hand out, palm up. Dean reaches out, and Castiel snags his fingers, squirting a small amount of the oil onto his hand and then working his thumbs into the muscles and between the fingers. Dean groans lightly, shoulders already slumping.

Castiel smiles. "Your hand is sore from putting so much weight on it with the cane, right?"

Dean nods, eyes half-mast in pleasure. "Wheelchair g-gave me calluses, too."

"You already had those," Castiel chuckles. "I like them. They feel good on my dick."

Startled by the light-hearted vulgarity, Dean bursts a laugh."Good to know."

Castiel puts his full massage training and concentration behind it. The fine tremors have greatly decreased, though he can still feel them. Dean's arms have a bit more definition than before thanks to the wheelchair, but the muscles are tight. He pushes Dean's henely up while goes, irrationally happy to be touching his husband's warm skin again. But as he gets to the elbow, he can't push the sleeves up anymore. He looks up to find Dean watching him unwaveringly. "May I?"

Dean nods and lifts his arms over his head.

Castiel swipes his palms up Dean's chest, shoving the shirt away and it falls behind him onto the bed. Dean shivers a little, goosebumps rising on his skin. "Cold?"

"No," Dean says a bit more breathily than before, and still quiet to match Castiel as if talking too loudly will shatter the nice moment. "Just f-f-feels good."

Castiel's tender smile grows. It certainly does feel good. He pulls his own light hoodie and t-shirt over his head in a single, fluid motion. He studies Dean's face carefully for any sign of discomfort, but all he sees is vague hunger. Castiel knows that feeling well.

They sit in silence, drinking each other in. Dean's gaze rakes over Castiel, looking at him thoroughly, though very little has changed. Dean, on the other hand... Castiel takes his time. The scarring to Dean's left side is extensive. Not just on his face, but the scraping wounds extend down to his navel. It looks worlds better than when he'd first seen it, but the way that Dean's arms spasm as he physically resists covering himself speaks volumes. "You're still gorgeous," Castiel murmurs. "I meant it when I said none of your injuries bother me."

"Wasn't w-w-worried 'bout that," Dean mumbles.

Castiel's eyes flick up. "Really? Then what is it?"

Dean gives in and presses a hand over the bursting of scars on his chest close to his shoulder. "Won't l-l-look the same in your ropes. Or-r-r after. The p-pattern it leaves on the skin."

Rather than dousing his libido with ice water, the mental image actually sends lava through his veins. Dean's correct, of course. The afterimage of welts and reddened skin won't look beautiful as it did before. Rather, it will look transcendent. Castiel swallows hard, and voice hoarse, croaks, "I'm... I'm okay with that."

Catching his mood right away, Dean's smile returns. His hand falls away from where it's covering him. "Yeah?"

Intense stare fixed on the dips and planes of Dean's chest, Castiel growls, "yes."

Dean twists away to grab for a jar on his nightstand and then hands it to Castiel, scooting closer again. "Good."

Castiel squints at the label in the low light. "Scar cream?"

Dean shrugs a single shoulder. "Won't make 'em d-d-disappear, but h-heals 'em faster."

Castiel white-knuckles the jar. Squeezes his eyes shut against a painful wave of arousal. "I think... yes, I... Dean, I beg your forgiveness, but everything about this is turning me on."

Dean's whole upper body shakes with his contained laugh. "Y-y-you and y-y-your _formality_ ," he chuckles. "Okay, what can I d-do to help not focus on your boner?"

With a small embarrassed laugh, Castiel says, "How about you face away from me? I really do want to help with all of this. Understand as much as I can about how you are now. But... maybe I should start with your back?" He gestures with the ointment sheepishly.

Dean grins, clearly not off-put, and turns himself around, scooting halfway to meet Castiel. "Better?"

 _Not really_. "Much better." Castiel had forgotten how much he adored every inch of his husband, but perhaps the back view most of all. Dean's grown stronger in his upper body by necessity, shoulder muscles flexing and releasing as he pushes up on his hands for a moment to readjust his position. Castiel resumes his massage tentatively, easing the knots and pushing away the strain. Dean murmurs his praise every now and then, completely leaving himself at Castiel's mercy.

Once satisfied that he's adequately relaxes, Castiel wipes his oily hands off on Dean's discarded shirt and picks up the scar cream. There aren't quite as many scars on this side, but enough that Castiel can harness more control of himself as he rubs the lightly scented cream into the healed wounds. Gradually, he intersperses the treatment with more massage, enjoying every second of it. More so when Dean sighs loudly, pushing back encouragingly into the touch.

Castiel uncurls his legs and moves even closer until they're only a scant few inches apart. He bends his knees to either side of Dean's hips, pleased when Dean drapes his arms over them naturally.

Working by touch only, Castiel feels for the raised skin on Dean's front to apply more of the cream. It's not his imagination that Dean's breathing is picking up with his heart rate. He can feel Dean's palms start to sweat where they clench against his calves.

Castiel presses a fleeting kiss to the knob of his spine at the base of his neck, fingers continuing their journey down to his abdomen, not totally with the intent of treating the scars. Dean moans. Castiel stops pretending and lets his hands wander where they want to all the sensitive areas. "What's your color?" he whispers into Dean's ear.

Dean's head falls back against Castiel's shoulder. His jaw clenches against Castiel's cheek. "Green," he says.

Castiel unbuttons Dean's jeans, drags the zipper down. Releases his husband's cock which bobs hard and hot in his hand. It feels amazing. Obviously to Dean too, the way he jerks and thrusts into Castiel's fist before a sharp, "settle!" command makes him go still with a high whine in his throat. More gently, Castiel says, "we're going to go slow. Feel my touch and just let it happen. You haven't been able to have this in a long time. And I want to show you how much I've missed this the same as you have."

"I have," Dean breathes. "So m-m-much!"

Castiel's right hand strokes in languid easy tugs, left hand working the loose jeans over Dean's ass and hips so that he can reach further to cup his balls, squeezing slightly for that small hint of pain to test the waters. When Dean hisses through his teeth, every fiber of his being dedicated to not moving against an issued command, Castiel knows - somewhere in the core of him - that they are going to be all right. He's not sure why it's this moment that solidifies it. Not sure what single thing tips the scales finally. But he is sure of it. He'll never doubt it again. And a part of him realizes that Dean can feel the shift, too. Almost like magic.

His husband is panting, sweating, clawing desperately onto Castiel's thighs. Holding still, but wild with it. It bursts out in other ways like a pressure cooker popping the lid. He doesn't modulate his voice. Doesn't unclench his muscles. Doesn't stop his neck from arching when Castiel bites down on his shoulder. He begs for more. _Sings_ for it from every pore of his body, but Castiel gives rewards in increments. His pace doesn't change as Dean comes slowly undone against him.

"C-C-C-Cas!" Dean gasps. "Y-y-y-you need-d-d-d t-to! _Ngh!_ Ple-e-e-ease!" Two more hard strokes and Dean comes with a muffled scream trembling in his throat as he paints his belly and Castiel's hands with his release. His body locks with the ferocity of it, but almost immediately goes boneless, his weight knocking Castiel onto his back, Dean falling with him. It's not comfortable, but Castiel is okay suffocating as long as he can keep feeling Dean's heaving breaths against him chest to back.

After a minute to collect himself, Castiel asks, "are you okay?"

"Y-y-yeah," Dean mumbles. "Fin-n-ne."

"You're sure?" Castiel prompts. "Your stutter is..." he trails off, not wanting to accidentally cause insult.

Dean huffs. Laughs. Climbs shakily off of Castiel to a sitting position. He grabs for the box of tissues on the headboard shelf, a handful for himself and then he passes the box to Castiel. "G-g-gets wors-s-s-s-se when I-I-I'm w-w-w-worked up-p-p. Gimme a-a-a- minute 'n I'll be-e-e f-f-f-fine."

He's fairly certain he's not supposed to laugh, but one slips out, anyway. Dean laughs with him, though, shuddering as he cleans off his sensitive dick. "So I don't have to worry about it?"

"Nah," Dean answers, massaging his throat for a minute until the spasms stop. 

"Okay. Um. Then. What's next?"

Dean raises an eyebrow and stares pointedly at Castiel's erection that's tenting his jeans. 

Not bothering to hide his arousal in the slightest, Castiel waves a dismissive hand. "There's plenty of time for me later. First you."

Smirking, Dean says, "meds." He nods to the nightstand. 

The daily doses have all been put into a pill sorter, but Castiel still picks up each bottle inside the drawer and reads the labels carefully. None of the nightly doses require them be taken with food, but two of them may cause drowsiness. He opens the sorter to ensure the only pills left are the ones Dean needs to take now. He tips them into his hand and holds them out with a full bottle of water. Dean tosses them all into his mouth and swallows them down with two large gulps.

"Have they weaned you off of any more medications?"

Dean shrugs. "G-g-gone down on-n-n s-s-s-some dosages."

"That's good. What's next?"

Dean shifts around again. "F-f-f-foot," he says bluntly. "Gotta t-t-t-take it off and ch-ch-check the w-w-wound. It's mostly h-h-healed."

Castiel hesitates. "Is that... something I can help with, or something you prefer to do by yourself?"

Pants already halfway removed, Dean unceremoniously strips them off, careful with pulling it over his foot. Castiel can clearly see the challenge in Dean's eyes but he doesn't back away. This is the only way to show his husband that he really isn't turned off or away by any of this. That his body isn't now, and never was, the most important thing.

Plus, the high tech foot actually looks really neat.

"Wanna tr-r-ry?" Dean asks, sliding his leg out flat until the toes of the metal foot touch Castiel's knee.

He's never seen Dean's injury so up close before. Never touched it. And his hesitation now isn't because he doesn't want to or is afraid of hurting Dean. He flinches. "What if I break it?" he mutters. Dean blinks. "You know how bad I am with machines and electronics. I've had three cell phones in two years."

Dean bursts out laughing. "You won't." 

Like he's diffusing a bomb, Castiel slips his hands under Dean's calf and brings his leg up into his lap. "This foot costs more than I make in a year. Please don't let me break it," he says with an edge of concerned desperation.

Grinning, Dean tilts his leg to the side a little and points to a button and a set of straps. "P-p-press the button. Unh-h-h-hook the strap. S'easy."

Slowly, Castiel follows his instructions. Something beeps and a lock clicks. The straps are simple enough to undo, and then the foot drops into Castiel's hands. It's heavier than he thought it would be, and he cradles it like a newborn. He probably has the same look of wonder on his face, too. "That was easy," he says with a nervous laugh.

"It's a f-f-foot, not a gr-r-renade," Dean says wryly. USB plug b-b-by the wall."

Castiel glances over his shoulder and sees the charger draped over the armchair by the wall. He takes the foot over to it and hooks it up, relieved to have it out of his clumsy grip. The LED lights blink slowly, and Castiel nods with satisfaction, returning to the bed.

Dean's still watching him closely, but with much less suspicion than before. He relaxes as Castiel takes up his former spot, pulling dean's leg into his lap again and didn't shy away from touching the wrapped padding protecting the leg. "Does this come off?"

Dean nods once. "I w-w-ash them every few days, depending."

With the same care as before, Castiel rolls the padding off, revealing Dean's leg to him for the first time. He doesn't know what he expected, but it looks far better than he'd imagined. It's scarred pink like the rest of the wounds, but it's almost completely healed now, though slightly chaffed from wearing the foot all day. "Does it still hurt?" he asks quietly.

"Sometimes," Dean admits. "When I w-w-wear the foot too long."

"Like today?"

Dean shrugs and nods again.

"How do you treat the chaffing?"

With a wry smile, Dean says, "actually? B-b-best option is rash cream a-a-and baby powder."

"That explains why it appeared in the bathroom," Castiel says. "Will that help tonight?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "Then p-p-put one of the sock-looking covers over it t-t-to keep it from r-r-rubbing off and messing up the sheets."

One more trip off of the bed and to the bathroom, and Castiel brings back the baby rash cream, powder, and cover. "Shall I?" Dean waves him on, and Castiel adds a generous layer of cream and powder to the chaffing then slips the cover over it.

"Right as rain," Dean says when he's finished.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Thank you."

Chuckling, Dean says, "for what?"

Castiel's fingers wander up Dean's leg, massaging again as he goes. His calf muscles are especially tight. "Thank you for trusting me to do this. I know how independent you are, Dean. I know you don't let anyone take care of you easily, especially when you're capable of doing it so well by yourself."

"Cas," Dean breathes with mildly chiding affection. "Y-y-you been taking care of me s-since day one." His hands come down to cover Castiel's, stilling them.

"I appreciate how hard it is for you to let me."

"That's the th-thing. It never was w-w-with you." Dean crawls forward into Castiel's lap kissing him soundly. He teases Castiel's bottom lip with his teeth, stoking back up Castiel's flagged ardor, and he's helpless but to follow along as Dean's tongue sweeps into his mouth. It probably lasts for a long time, though it still feels like it's too soon when Dean pulls back. "Even if it was, I'da done it."

Castiel kisses him again. And since fair is fair, and Cain had thought all of this was a good idea, Castiel lifts his hips up and lets Dean shimmy his pants off. Takes the boxers with him, too. Just like that, Castiel is laid out on his back against the comforter, totally nude, and all without the desperation of their previous sexual encounter. "This seems like a good idea," Castiel smiles, feeling almost giddy.

"Yeah," Dean grins. "You're st-st-still hot."

He snorts. "Of course I am." He reaches his arms up. "For the record, so are you." Dean bends down towards him, planting kisses all over his face, down his neck. Licks. Bites. Teases his nipples until Castiel squirms. "You don't have to," he gasps even as his fingers thread into Dean's hair, urging him on. A whine catches in his throat as Dean pushes up onto his arms again.

"Here's w-what's gonna happen, C-C-Cas. Imma finger y-y-you like it's going out of style wh-wh-while I suck your dick." He gives his husband a pointed look. "Cool with you?"

"Cool with me," Castiel echoes faintly, gulping in a large breath of air.

With an impossibly sassy grin, Dean dips down again, picking up where he left off on his journey over Castiel's body. But this time his hands join in the action. He's got the lube and the gloves in record time, swiping a finger down Castiel's shaft, over his balls, and back to his hole at the same time his lips close over the head of his cock.

Castiel's lower back arches off the bed, shoving his dick fully into Dean's mouth, but the man is ready, taking it all and swallowing as the head brushes the back of his throat. Castiel yanks at Dean's hair, pulling a grunt from him, and also earning the rough shove of his finger inside him. "Dean!" he moans.

In response, Dean hums his agreement, the vibrations hitting the base of Castiel's spine. Shortly thereafter, Dean's finger finds its target against his prostate and Castiel knows in a second he won't last long. At all. As ever.

But Dean seems to think that his lack of stamina is hot because he doesn't let up. His finger massages the bundle of nerves, mouth hard suction up and down, every few movements deep into his mouth. He revels in Castiel's gathering tension. His desperate moans, the thin sheen of sweat all over him.

" _Dean_ ," he whispers.

Dean pushes down until his nose brushes the thatch of hair at the base of Castiel's dick.

Castiel comes trembling and laughing and repeating Dean's name over and over.

Dean swallows every drop, then slowly pulls off, savoring Castiel's oversensitivity. He's grinning, lips swollen and shiny with saliva. He strips off the glove and crawls up Castiel's body until they're curled side by side. 

Castiel stares up at the ceiling. "Cain gives excellent advice," he says into the silence.

Dean laughs brightly. "Y-y-yeah. He does."

Reaching over to drag Dean's arm across his chest, Castiel asks, "can we work with this? I feel like we can."

"Yeah," Dean murmurs again. "We're good."

Castiel pulls Dean tighter, and Dean turns into his side willingly, kissing Castiel's shoulder. "I want to burn those divorce papers," he admits weighted by the certainty of the truth. "I never even want to think about them again."

Dean is silent for a minute. But then he says, "yeah, okay. W-w-we can do that."

"Are you positive?"

Dean takes Castiel's chin in his hand, turning his head to kiss him properly. When he shifts back, his eyes are clear and certain. "Yeah. Never again."

Bubbling over with relief, love, Castiel kisses Dean again. "Thank you," he whispers against his lips. "I love you."

"Love y-y-you, too," Dean mumbles, pulled towards sleep after the exertion and his medications. 

Castiel is happy to let him doze off first. Holding him close in their bed, listening to him breathe. Knowing he'll never take any of this for granted ever again. Until death do they part. And hopefully not even then.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes to terms with his limitations. Castiel tells him a bit of his past. The family has a bonfire.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  Mentions of PTSD  
> handjobs  
> mutual masturbation  
> mild bondage

"Okay, kid," Dean says sourly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Cas s-s-said I can start getting b-b-back in the field, but only ob-b-bservation. And if either of us screws up, I'm b-b-boned, so pay attention."

Jack straightens his shoulders. "Okey dokey!" he says brightly. "Whatever I can do to help."

Dean scowls harder. "What's with all the fr-fr-freaking Christmas cheer?"

Jack shrugs. "Nothing, really. I'm just glad you're getting back to work. Everyone misses you, so it'll be good for morale."

"What about you?" Dean asks, trying his best to rein in his irritation. The kid hasn't earned it, but it lingers anyway. Cas likes him, so does Sam. Charlie and Gabriel are smitten with him, so there's no real rush for Dean to like him too, but it's not exactly true to character for him to hate someone on sight. 

"What do you mean?" Jack asks. 

"What happens if I take my job b-back?"

"I hope you do," Jack says with full sincerity. "Bobby called this a temporary assignment for me. I'll be sad to see you guys go, since I've been welcomed like family, but I understand if I have to."

"That's b-b-big of you," Dean mutters. 

"In the meantime, I wanna learn everything I can from you so I can do better in my next job." He grins and Dean rolls his eyes. 

He checks over Jack's sidearm and hands it back. "Long as you don't shoot me."

Jack's smile is as bright as the sun. "No worries! I'm a really good marksman."

Maybe it's the fact that the kid can praise himself without a hint of irony that gets on his nerves. Dean points down the gun range to the target and secures his ear protection. "Prove it, Billy the Kid."

Jack slips on his own ear protection, turns to face the range, and empties his clip with barely a blink.

Begrudgingly Dean has to admit that Jack is an excellent shot. He'd probably give both Bobby and Dean a tough run for their rankings in a full course. Personally, Dean hates the thought, but it's nothing but good news for Sam's protection. If Jack can stay this calm and sharp under pressure, no threat would stand a chance. Of course, the gun range and real life are two vastly different things.

But for the time being, he's shining where he should. He makes short work of all the targets at various distances and with an array of firearms. Satisfied that he won't shoot anyone he shouldn't by accident, Dean reviews his shots, where he should focus on improvement, and then, training duties completed, Dean releases him back to the house where Castiel has the dubious honor of training him further in the database now that his background check has cleared.

Alone now, Dean walks over to the weapons locker to secure the guns they used. He pauses when his eyes fall on the Christmas gift that Castiel had given him. He touches the pearl handle, his shaking hands not going unnoticed. He knows he doesn't need to rush it. The only way that Castiel had allowed him any time at all back on the job was under the condition that Dean would be there as eyes only, and no packing until he passed another shooting test. Still, it hasn't totally sunk in how bad it is. How far from where he was to where he is. He'd like to know.

_Don't overthink it._

He removes his gun from the locker and fills the clip. He pulls down the used paper target and replaces it with a fresh one, then hits the button on the side of the divider to move it to the end of the range. Ear protection back on, he squares off with the target, pointedly ignoring the way his arms shake a little. He can compensate for that. Hopefully. 

Deep breath in. 

Deep breath out. 

He fires his shots in rapid succession. Once the clip is empty, he flicks the safety back on and sets the gun down on the table. Pushes his ear protection down around his neck, and then hits the button to bring the target over to him. 

"Wow," Sam says from behind him, full witness to the massacre. "What were you shooting at? The target in the next stall over?"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean answers. It's not _that_ bad. Kind of. Maybe a little bad. Sam brings the target back.

Okay, really bad. Only three of the seven rounds had actually hit the target, and definitely not where he'd been aiming. The rest qualify as coloring outside the lines, but at this point, Dean's ready to be happy he at least hit the paper with all of them.

Sam rests against the table, ankles crossed in that casual way that indicates he's got something to say that's decidedly less so. "It doesn't have to be tomorrow," he says. "The hiatus is over in another month and--"

"No," Dean says sharply. "I gotta g-g-get back out there. Time ain't g-g-gonna make it better."

"Yes, it will," Sam insists, in a rare moment of being willing to disagree with Dean over his recovery. Dean had kind of hoped he'd keep on letting him determine what he was and wasn't capable of. Two months is apparently the limit. "Look, Dean, I get it. Obviously I don't really understand what you're going through, but I understand _you_. I know you like to push yourself too much sometimes. And that's not gonna help in this situation."

"Yeah, I know," Dean mumbles. "It's just... d-d-dude, I need _something_."

Sam sighs, head tilting down. "Fine. But are Cas's rules going to make it better or worse for you?"

Dean shakes his head. "I'll put up with anything to g-g-g-get b-b-back out there."

Sam smiles wanly. "Okay. That's good enough for me, I guess." He pats his brother on the shoulder and helps him clean up the range with no further argument. Once everything is secure, they make their way back to the house together. Jack and Castiel are holed up in the office going through the paperwork, so Dean painstakingly trudges up the stairs to the bedroom to shower.

He kinda hates taking showers these days, mostly because they make him think too much. And in this instance, no, he's _not_ really cool with Castiel's rules, but they're not just his. They made the rules together ages ago. They'd agreed to best practice on the job, and this is it. After any injury that takes either of them out of commission, the SOP requires a post-injury training test before going back on full duty. And if the shooting range is any indication, Dean is far from ready. He can't run, can't shoot the broad side of a barn, can't talk clearly half the time, and he still has yet to address the fact that his eyes are a lot shittier than the used to be, too.

He feels like he's out of control of his own body a good portion of the time. He knows it's not a healthy way of looking at it. He knows he can't just wish for the last 36 years back. He can't act like one day he'll wake up and be the man he remembers. That won't happen. At some point he'll have to square up with the man he is now. Get used to sitting down while he showers. Try not to fall flat on his face when his foot locks up or runs out of batteries. Remember that he can't just jump out of bed in the morning without putting the damn thing on first.

At least it's not a bitter pill to swallow. He's over that part. He just has to get used to it. 36 years is a long time to go one way only to cut the wheel down a totally different road. He needs as much normalcy back as he can get. Hold onto the things that'll stay the same to make the transition easier.

Hell, he'll take what he can get right now. He just wants to get back out there. But doing so requires him to face the music about his injures. It's not the most fun he's ever had. 

All he can do is hope he gets there someday.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

It's closing in on dinner time once Dean's finished with his routine, and since Sam and Castiel are way past the point of letting him squirrel away in his room to eat, he carefully comes back down to the kitchen.

Sam is in the process of pulling a mess of baked potatoes out of the oven and Jack is loading up the table with all the condiments to load them with.

"We b-b-better have sour cream," Dean says, leg sore enough that he can't hide the hobbling even using his cane as he makes his way to his seat.

"Sam says plain Greek yogurt tastes the same," Jack says doubtfully, holding out the tub. "Plus, it has more protein."

Dean swipes the container and flips up the lid, swiping a taste with his finger. "You will never convert me to a health nut," he warns his brother. He pops his finger in his mouth and shrugs. Close enough. For once Sam wasn't totally lying.

"I'd never waste my time on something so futile," Sam says. The plate of potatoes goes on the center of the table.

Castiel passes around the silverware and presses a kiss to Dean's temple before taking the seat to his left. 

Sam sits across from them with Jack and they both watch Dean and Castiel interacting with the concentration of brain surgeons. Neither Dean nor Castiel notices for a minute as they pass the condiments between them wordlessly like they can read each other's minds.

Sam clears his throat.

Dean and Castiel look up at the same time.

"So," Sam says with false lightness. "What's the story with you two? Any... uh... developments after your appointment with Cain?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Sammy..."

Castiel places his hand on Dean's arm. "Is it okay if I tell them?"

Dean tilts his head and his shoulder in permission.

Castiel smiles. "Dean and I won't be pursuing a divorce anymore. We've come to a workable understanding with the help of Cain."

Jack covers his mouth as he snorts a laugh around a mouthful of baked potato. Sam's lips quirk in a crooked smile. "Wow, that was... really clinical, Cas."

"Our sex life is b-b-back on track," Dean quips with a lewd grin.

Jack nearly chokes on his food, coughing, face red with mirth. Sam pounds him on the back.

"I apologize for my family," Castiel says regretfully to Jack, who waves a hand in dismissal. 

"It's okay," he gasps. "You're so funny."

"At any rate," Castiel says pointedly, giving Dean a warning look, "yes. We've worked through the issues, and we think that whatever happens, we'll be able to keep our marriage intact."

Sam leans forward on his elbows. "So, about those divorce papers..." he trails off significantly.

"What about them?" Castiel asks.

Sam's grin is nothing short of wicked. "How do you guys feel about s'mores for dessert?"

"Hell, yeah," Dean says, catching on immediately.

Castiel and Jack look slightly confused, but Castiel learned long ago that half of the Winchester brothers' communication went unspoken. Jack seems to be learning that quickly as well, considering he shrugs it off and continues to shovel his dinner into his mouth almost exactly like Dean does.

After dinner, Dean disappears upstairs for a minute and Sam grabs the s'mores ingredients and takes Jack and Castiel to the back patio. They haven't used the fire pit since the previous winter, and it's one of Castiel's favorite spots. He and Jack drag over the iron lawn chairs and grab the cushions from the outside storage closet. By the time they're settled, Dean is back. He holds out a stack of papers to his husband. "Wanna d-d-do the honors?"

Castiel accepts the papers, laughing when he realizes what they are. He stands, eye to eye with Dean. "You're _absolutely_ certain about this?" When Dean clearly starts to look like he's gearing up for a tirade, Castiel rushes to continue, "I'm completely sure that I do not now, and will not ever, want to divorce you. But as with everything else, we must be in full agreement."

Dean nods once. "B-b-b-burn those fucking things, Cas."

Castiel kisses him firmly. "Gladly." He takes them over to Sam. "I believe I have your starter for the fire."

Beaming, Sam grabs the papers and tosses them unceremoniously into the fire pit with the scented logs. He douses the whole of it in lighter fluid and rips a match out of the matchbook. "Anyone wanna say a few words?"

Dean walks to his husband's side. Jack joins them.

Dean clears his throat dramatically. "Fuck you, divorce," he says distinctly, flipping off the papers.

"Burn in Hell," Castiel adds.

"Don't ever come back to haunt them!" Jack offers.

"Amen," Sam concludes. He strikes the match and flicks it into the pit. The papers catch with a satisfying _whump_. They all watch the flames gather and take. Then Sam claps his hands once. "Okay, let's roast some damn marshmallows!"

Dean's arm slips around Castiel's waist. Castiel turns his chin and rests his forehead against Dean's temple. They watch the flames together, warmed inside and out. "I love you," Dean murmurs.

"Thank you for this, Dean," Castiel answers. "For always trying to do what's best for me. For us. And for not giving up."

"It's hard sometimes," Dean admits, hand tightening on Castiel's hip.

"I know. Does that scare you?"

"Not anymore."

"Me, either."

And despite the weight of their divorce lifted from their shoulders, Dean still appears to be preoccupied with something. He's acting normal enough, laughing with Sam and setting his marshmallows on fire, but Castiel can see the act. Sam probably does, too, but is actively ignoring it. They've earned that much, anyway. And Castiel doesn't want to ruin the fun by asking him what's wrong. There's plenty of time for that later when they're in private.

Of course, his self-restraint doesn't make it a second past the closed bedroom door that night. "Dean," he says gently, "is something wrong?"

Dean unzips his hoodie. "It's not you. Or-r-r us. Not really."

Castiel steps close and he can smell the wood smoke and pine clinging to them. "What is it?" He holds out his hand.

Dean takes it, kissing his knuckles. "Tryn'a feel like I'm in control of my b-b-body again."

"Oh, Dean," Castiel sighs. "I'm sorry you're struggling with this. I really... is... is there anything I can do to help?"

Green eyes snare blue. "Make me forg-g-get about it for awhile?" His low tone makes it impossible for Castiel to misunderstand his intentions.

He swallows. "Dean," he says hoarsely. "I don't think we should..."

Dean shuffles even closer. "Please," he whispers. "Just a little."

Castiel reaches up and cups Dean's jaw with both hands. Studies his face. Dean does need this. He's asking for something neither of them are really ready for. It's not safe. However... Castiel would be lying if he said that he hadn't been keeping a mental list of things that they could _possibly_ do now. "Just a little," he agrees seriously. "Tell me, Dean. Would you prefer to to regain some control tonight, or forget that you need it?"

Dean puts their foreheads together, eyes closed, breathing deeply on a sigh. "Forget. I w-w-wanna forget, Cas."

"Understood," he murmurs, nosing into the hair at Dean's temple and nibbling at his earlobe. "Can you remain silent tonight?"

Dean's head tips back, exposing his neck and urging Castiel's mouth down further. "Yes," he hisses.

Castiel indulges him, kissing a path over the scars down to his neck, biting at his shoulder until Dean shudders and clings to Castiel's shirt. "We're going to work together on this," Castiel says softly. "Get undressed. I'll be right back." But he doesn't leave immediately. He can't. Dean's lips are still sweet and a little sticky from the s'mores. And those lips part so beautifully for him. So willingly. Dean follows so well. He waits for Castiel to deepen the kiss, and when his tongue sweeps into Dean's mouth he makes a satisfied noise. Slow and indulgent, Castiel intersperses deep, searching kisses with smaller presses of their lips. He allows Dean's hands to wander over him, up his arms, around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair to keep him close. When Castiel shifts forward he can feel Dean's erection against his thigh, and that's his cue to pull away. Dean whines but keeps himself quiet otherwise.

Even his eyes are slow to open and focus. "Should... should I take off the f-f-foot, too?"

Castiel brushes his lips over Dean's lightly one more time. "Whatever you're comfortable with." One last kiss and then he's slipping out of the room to gather the supplies he needs from the exercise room where they've stored several of their toys.

Back in the bedroom he finds Dean compliant and calm. He's kicked back on the bed completely naked except for the leg cover. He's dimmed the lights, too. 

Castiel takes a moment to appreciate how lovely his husband looks in the warm hue. "Still good?"

Dean nods. Waves Castiel closer.

Castiel methodically removes his own clothes, tossing them into the hamper in the closet before joining Dean on the bed. He holds out what he'd collected from the exercise room.

"Ribb-b-b-bons?" Dean asks doubtfully.

"Like I said: we're going to do this together," Castiel says, fingering the red silk fabric. He moves up the bed and arranges the pillows, leaning back against the headboard. "Come here," he says. "Back to front."

Dean complies, moving over between Castiel's spread legs, laying back against his chest.

"We're going to tie ourselves together," Castiel instructs. He places his left hand on top of Dean's, looping the ribbon around their wrists with his right. "Help me tie this." Dean's right hand joins and they knot the silk into a neat bow. Dean snorts a small laugh. "You'll love it once we get started," Castiel admonishes lightly. "Other hand." He draws their bound hands to the other wrist. It takes more fiddling this time around since Dean won't immediately give in to Castiel's full control, but they get the other ribbon tied. "You can talk for now. I can tell you have something to say."

"'s weird," Dean mutters.

"You need to relax," Castiel murmurs onto the base of Dean's neck. "I can feel how tense you are. I'm going to give you exactly what you asked for, but you have to trust me and let go. Are you ready to do that?"

Dean nods. He allows Castiel to guide their hands down to rest on his thighs. Castiel stops there. He keeps his muscles loose, breathing deep and even. He realizes that this is incredibly difficult for Dean, despite the fact that he'd asked for it; despite the fact that he wants it. 

It's hard for him, too. He's nervous, but he can't let it show too much. They're in this together, and they know what they want, but that doesn't make it any easier. So he does what he can. Closes his eyes, settles his nerves, feels Dean's heartbeat against his chest. It's slowing down in increments.

"D-d-don't fall asleep on me," Dean murmurs.

"Believe me, that won't happen," Castiel smiles. "Tell me when you're ready."

Dean shimmies around a little to get as comfortable as possible. It takes another few minutes, but finally he says, "ready."

His voice sounds steady, body pliant. He's ready. "Good," Castiel murmurs. "Now it's time for you to be quiet. Let me guide you and give yourself over to it. You may close your eyes or keep them open. Whatever's more comfortable. You may ask to stop at any time, and I will. Are you clear on these instructions? Please nod or shake your head."

Dean nods.

Castiel presses a gentle kiss against the nape of Dean's neck. 

Dean closes his eyes and rests his head against Castiel's shoulder, pushing all of the air out of his lungs. Draws more in. Deep and regulated. Probably exactly as he was taught by Lisa during his PT.

"You're doing so well," Castiel whispers as he starts to move his hands. There's slight resistance, but it only lasts for a second before Dean's arms go lax, allowing Castiel to move them freely. He lines up each finger on top of Dean's and slowly drags them up Dean's thighs. Bends at the elbows to slide up his chest. Dean squirms a little the struggles to go still again.

With a tiny smirk, Castiel asks, "have you touched yourself at all lately?" He doesn't say, "since you were wounded." But Dean understands. "You can answer."

"No," Dean gasps, neck arching harder against Castiel's shoulder.

"I suppose I should assist with the rediscovery of your body," he says blithely. He draws patterns over Dean's chest. Traces his collarbone. Brushes over his nipples and Dean startles. Castiel presses down and rubs harder. Dean's lower back bows slightly and he sighs. "Wasn't sure if you'd respond this well to your own hands, but I'm pleased to see you're still so sensitive." He glances over Dean's shoulder and down. Dean's getting hard, cock twitching up every time Castiel moves their joined hands over his most sensitive areas. Over his ribs, and across his belly. 

Together they mold the dips and planes. Trace the scars. Dean feels everything as Castiel does. The parts he loves. The parts he adores. How precious what they have is. Dean's breathing beings to pick up. His pulse quickens. His body warms. His hips jut up.

"Go easy," Castiel purrs. "Settle down." He stops moving their hands until Dean is calm again. Then he begins his slow descent down again. Dean's muscles twitch and flex, but he remains as relaxed as possible.

Gentle stroking up and down. Until Dean forgets that he wants to get off. Until Castiel feels like Dean's body has become a part of his own, they move so effortlessly. When he guides Dean's hand down to his dick, he barely has to exert any pressure at all. Dean's fingers close around it, and he seems to anticipate the first stroke down with a heady sigh. Or perhaps he's sensing Castiel's movements that well. Either way, it feels amazing for the both of them.

Dean's body has always been so responsive. Not just to touch, though that's phenomenal. But his reactions. The way he breathes. The way he _moves_. The way his face changes with his emotions. The way he gives in. It's beautiful.

Castiel moves their left hands over and under to his own dick, hard and aching against Dean's lower back. It's a little awkward, but amazing all the same. They pump their fists completely in unison. Dean begins to tense, ass rising slightly off the bed and Castiel chases the movement with his hips. Tighter. Muscles pulled taut. He forgets to remind Dean that he's supposed to be quiet.

"O-h-h-h, God, oh, fu-fu-fuck-k-k, _Cas_! C-C-Cas, pl-please j-just!"

Castiel bites down fiercely against Dean's shoulder blade. He comes, entire body spasming. Dean is a second later with a hoarse cry. He forces their right hands down to Castiel's thighs, grabbing tightly enough to bruise. Castiel yanks their left hands back to Dean's cock, milking him as his body remains trembling and tight. He knows Dean can't hear him right now. His eyes are open and glazed, head thrown back, jaw clenched, panting high in his chest. His fingers have gone loose, but Castiel keeps the pressure up as he pumps Dean's dick relentlessly.

"Come on, Dean," Castiel growls into his husband's ear. "Show me what you've got left for me. I _want_ it. Let go. I want to see it. Show me, Dean. _Show me_."

Dean gasps and convulses. It's a dry orgasm, but it's intense. And it lasts until Dean's frozen lungs automatically gasp for a breath. It takes him a while before he drops back against Castiel's chest, eyes finally falling shut again.

Castiel groans delightedly. "Ah, Dean," he whispers into his sweat-dampened hair. "You're incredible." He drags their fingers through the mess on Dean's belly. Dean's abs tremble and he whimpers. "It's okay. You're okay. Lean against me. Let me have it. I've got this. I've got you. Whatever you need."

Dean's body is putty against his. They're stuck together by sweat and come, and it's wonderful. Castiel brings their hands together over Dean's chest, holding him firmly. 

"So g-g-g-good," Dean mumbles after a long silence.

Castiel smiles against neck. "I agree." He picks their hands up. "Do you have the dexterity yet to help me untie us?"

"Nope."

Chuckling, Castiel grasps the ribbon's tail on their left hand and tugs. It takes a few tries, but eventually it comes off. Dean's arm flops down to his side. The right arm follows a minute later. "We should get cleaned up."

Dean moans. "D-d-don't wanna."

"Me either," Castiel admits. 

Dean pats his hand out. Leans and leans until he topples over and his hand hits the nightstand. He tugs open the drawer noisly and tosses something over his shoulder. It smacks against Castiel's chest and he lethargically picks it up with a laugh. "These antibacterial wipes are to clean your injuries."

"Mostly h-h-healed now," Dean chuckles.

Shrugging, Castiel wipes himself off and then tends to Dean. Then they're curling together under the comforter after some uncoordinated floundering. "Are you okay with tomorrow's arrangement?" Castiel asks once the lights are off.

"Sorta," Dean answers quietly. "B-b-b-but it's protocol." He yawns widely. "I'm not ready for the rest."

Castiel pulls Dean closer, stroking through his hair. "Mentally or physically?"

"Mostly physical. B-b-but, first time b-b-back out there? I'm nervous."

That sort of unbridled honesty does surprise Castiel to some degree. Lately, yes, Dean has been far more forthcoming with his feelings, but this level of vulnerability? It's not something he shows willingly, even to someone like Castiel who is most likely to understand. "I understand that," he says quietly.

Something in his tone must give away his thoughts because Dean says, "yeah? How?"

Castiel hums in the back of his throat. "Obviously I was never injured like you, but... there was a time when I was overseas..." He trails off, not sure that he should continue. He knows that there's no such thing as the Suffering Olympics, but his experiences do still pale in comparison to Dean's.

Into the silence, Dean prompts, "d-d-during active duty?"

Castiel nods. "Yes. It was a night patrol. Things went sideways less than thirty minutes in. I got luckier than most of my people." He taps his right shoulder where one of his more prominent scars resides. "Shot. Clean through and through. Tore up the muscles and nerves. I was told I was lucky to be able to even bend my arm again, let alone regain perfect mobility. It took two years, and some of the best doctors in the country."

Dean rustles closer. "Sam told me y-you retired after an injury, b-b-but never g-g-gave me the details."

"That's correct," Castiel confirms. "I never talked about it much to anyone. In fact, all I told Sam was that I was discharged after my injury and decided to go back to college. It was... a half truth."

Dean says nothing, but his interest shows in the way he shifts around a little to be able to settle his head on the pillow and see Castiel better. "Y'don't have to tell me."

Castiel turns his head to look at Dean. "There's nothing I wish to keep secret from you. It wasn't a medical discharge that spurred my retirement. I could have stayed behind a desk until my full recovery at my rank. And I _did_ try for a while. But I had to pass similar physical tests and shooting tests that we agreed upon in our work now. I picked up my sidearm, and..." he shrugs helplessly. "I couldn't. I couldn't shoot anymore. I didn't want to. My arm would shake so badly that I couldn't even hit the target. And this was well after I'd healed."

"How... how d-d-did you..."

"I retired. Went to therapy to treat my PTSD. Realized that there was no way to reconcile what I'd been through with who I wanted to be in the future. So, I went to Stanford. I became a civilian through and through. Then I met Bobby. Retrained. Exposed myself gradually to the things I feared. Took up a firearm in defense only. It's a fine line, yes, but one that I was more comfortable with. Dean..." He feels himself soften under Dean's caring scrutiny. "None of the things you want are out of your reach. You've dealt with far more than I have, in a far better way. I sat in my apartment for weeks; alone, crying and trying to write my name over and over. Hating that it looked like a kindergartner's writing for ages. However, I kept moving forward. So can you."

Dean smiles wryly. "I can still b-b-be scared, though, right?"

Castiel smiles back. "That's the smartest way to be. I'll be by your side the whole time. Always."

Dean kisses him. "Promise?"

"I do."

It feels like a lot more than just the weight of the divorce papers have gone up in smoke afterwards.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets shoved into the spotlight.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  Brief panic attack  
> Bottom!Dean

Dean shuffles up behind Castiel as he examines himself in the full body mirror on the back of their closet door. "How old are you?" he asks with a smirk.

Castiel arches an eyebrow at his husband through the mirror. "You're fully aware that I'm thirty-nine. Why are you suddenly ignorant to that fact?"

Dean reaches up and over Castiel's shoulders, tugging on the knot of Castiel's tie to undo it. He flips up the dress shirt collar and carefully re-ties it so that it's not crooked and backwards. "B-b-because you tie this like a ten year-old."

Castiel scoffs. "It's always hidden behind my jacket, anyway."

Dean slips fluidly in front of Castiel, tugging down the shirt collar to lie flat and then takes a step back. "Didn't you used t-t-to tell me that appearance i-i-is critical?" His smile widens as he surveys his work. "Lookin' good now."

Castiel grins. "So do you."

Dean straightens his lapels. He didn't have to wear a suit today because he's only there for observation, but he figured he might as well dress the part, too. "Feels weird." He jams two fingers under his collar, yanking it left and right to loosen it. It never works, but a man can hope.

Castiel reaches out and smooths the wrinkles out of Dean's jacket. "For the record, I'm glad you're coming back. You're really okay with everything?"

"Yeah." Dean answers. "Like to see what I'm up ag-g-gainst b-b-before my next surgery."

"Your next surgery will only improve things further," Castiel says.

"Or fuck it all up worse."

Castiel grabs both lapels of Dean's suit jacket and yanks hard. Their chests collide and Dean grunts at the forceful impact, eyes flashing. Castiel hasn't been this aggressive in a very long time, so it's equal parts an irritant and a turn on. But he's held fast as Castiel growls in his rumble of thunder voice, "there's no more getting worse, Dean. Say it."

"It'll g-get b-b-better," Dean says.

"Kiss me," Castiel orders.

Dean kisses him hard and deep and dirty. Hands grabbing, yanking on hair, shirts getting wrinkled, wet kisses with only enough time between them to break for a breath of air. Then diving back in for more.

"Stopstopstop!" Dean gasps after a minute. Or two. He pushes Castiel back and then pulls him closer again.

Chuckling, Castiel kisses him softly. "Which one is it?"

Dean whines. His forehead comes down onto Castiel's shoulder. "Stop making me horny."

"Can't," Castiel grins, totally unapologetic. "You in a suit has always been my weakness."

Dean puffs a short laugh onto Castiel's neck and finally pulls back. He gets one good look at Castiel, and then himself in the mirror and bursts out laughing in earnest. "Well, we d-d-don't look like we just had-d-d sex, _at all_."

Castiel turns and laughs as well. "Too bad we didn't."

Dean catches his eye in the mirror and winks. "Still time."

"You wish." He shoves his hands through his hair, attempting to put it back in order. The wrinkles in their clothing are probably a lost cause at this point, but they don't look _terrible_. Perhaps just like they've been stuck in a car for a whole day or something. He shrugs and follows Dean down to the living room where Gabriel, Charlie, Sam, and Jack are waiting. 

Gabriel gets a look at them and chortles, "gross you guys."

Dean bumps Castiel's shoulder. "Told ya."

"Yes, thank you," Castiel says irritably. "Dean and I were not having sex. Can we please leave now?"

Jack stands. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. When two consenting adults--" He's cut off by Gabriel's snorting laughter. Sam smacks him on the shoulder.

Castiel looks at Jack with something like despair. "I was hoping you'd be the best of us."

Jack grins. "I'm young and impressionable."

"You surely are," Gabriel giggles.

"Okay," Dean says loudly. "Let's gear up!" He bangs his cane on the floor twice and starts to shuffle towards the garage entry. Gradually, the chairs scrape and the rest of them follow Dean out to pile into the car. The studio is only twenty minutes away, and they're quiet for most of it, until they're into downtown. 

Gabriel gives them the rundown when they're close. "Closed set today, so should be easy-peasy to secure. The interview isn't live, and no studio audience. Only problem is that the general public can get around the access areas to the building pretty easily, so there may be crowds we'll have to punch through."

"They don't have a parking garage?" Castiel asks. 

"They do, but the stage entry is in the alley, and the paparazzi knows that. We're gonna get as close to it as we can, and there's side street parking that we should use instead since it's closer."

"Great," Dean mutters. 

Gabriel shrugs. "Luckily, it's a Wednesday and early enough it shouldn't be flooded. The network is pretty good about not leaking their guest list, so only the crew is expecting our Samtastic."

"What's the d-d-drill?" Dean asks Jack. 

"Check for threats, cover Sam, and clear a path. Block paparazzi shots when possible as a special bonus."

Castiel side-eyes Dean for the last part, but Dean merely shrugs with a wink. "Benny, can I ask another favor?"

"Sure thing, boss," Benny says, glancing at Castiel through the rearview.

"We need another pair of boots on the ground to keep everyone off of Dean."

"Come on, man," Dean protests.

Castiel gives him a stern look. "We can't risk further injury to you or your new foot this close to getting the implants. It's not because I don't think that you can protect yourself."

Finding nothing but sincerity, and knowing that time was of the essence, Dean relented. "Fine. Yeah. You're right. Okay, let's g-g-go. Ord-der up."

On cue, Benny throws the SUV into park in a visitor assigned lot and climbs out, swinging around to the back door. "Lookin' smooth so far," he tells them.

Castiel is out next, glancing around quickly. No threats, and only a handful of paparazzi around close to the stage entry at the building. He holds the car door open, motioning for Jack to step out. He does so and looks around thoroughly like Castiel had. 

"They're going to recognize Sam," Jack says.

"That's why we're here," Castiel answers.

Dean is out next, and he immediately shuffles over to Benny to stay out of the way as much as possible. Eyes only. He doesn't like it, but it's the best option, and he'd agreed. He'll do his damn job. Nonetheless, he clenches his cane tightly.

Charlie and Gabriel pile out right in front of Sam, who wastes no time exiting the car into the middle of their huddle.

They're only a few yards from the door when the paparazzi notices them and takes immediate interest. The circle tightens around Sam, but after a few seconds, the unexpected happens. Through the din of loud voices and shoving bodies, someone yells, "Dean! Dean Winchester! Can we get a statement, please?"

"What the hell?" Dean mutters. Benny moves in front of him, blocking him from the paparazzi crush. 

None of them know how to react for a minute, considering everyone is ignoring Sam for once in favor of the average guy with the scars and the cane. Before they can get their acts together, there are a dozen cameras and small recording devices shoved into Dean's face. And if he wasn't so intent on keeping himself on his feet, he'd be throwing his fists at the mics with extreme prejudice.

"Is this the fucking Twilight Zone?" Gabriel grunts beside him, trying to push some of people back without getting too violent.

It's almost comical to watch Sam turning the tables, too, to get his brother out of the way instead of the other way around. 

"The hell is g-g-going on?" Dean demands finally, once the crowd is somewhat brought to heel.

"Dean, could we please get a statement about your run-in with Lucifer Pellegrino?"

"What? Why?" Dean asks, mystified. 

"His arrest has been big in the news with his alleged harassment of stars!"

"What were your injuries?" 

Are you still able to act as your brother's bodyguard?" 

"How many times were you shot?"

Heart thundering behind his ribs, Dean tries to break away, but he's hemmed in on all sides. His palms are sweating and he's starting to shake. Jesus. He needs to get out of here. Too many people. Too much noise. There's... there's not enough air. He might be sick. Darkness edges into his peripheral vision. A wave of vertigo hits him and he's stumbling back, foot locking at the sudden uncoordinated movement. He crashes into Castiel's chest, and supportive arms go around him immediately.

"I've got you," Castiel murmurs into his ear. He spins Dean around. 

Somehow, the rest of the team has managed to blaze a path to the door and they're quickly shutting out the commotion. 

Immediately Dean's legs fold, and Castiel guides him in a controlled fall onto the long benches in the hallway. Dean tucks his head between his knees, taking deep, regulated breaths. 

Castiel sits beside him, reaching out hesitantly. "Dean--" Dean holds a hand up, and Castiel takes the hint, turning his attention instead to the rest of the group. "What was that about?"

A round of helpless shrugs answers him. 

Castiel sighs loudly. "Jack, Gabriel, Benny. Get Sam to the studio, please. We're running behind."

Without another word, they hustle Sam off down the hall where a group of studio crew members are waiting. 

"Charlie," Castiel says sharply.

"I don't _know_!" she snaps, much more angry than Castiel has ever seen her. "I'm Sam's PR rep, not Dean's! But _something_ should have flagged for me, and it _didn't_!" Her hazel eyes fly up from her tablet and she looks helplessly at Castiel. "Don't worry. I'll figure it out. I swear. Once I do, we'll get a lid on it. Just give me a while."

Castiel nods once. "Fine. Please do your best." Then his attention is solely back on his husband again as Charlie traipses away down the hall to join up with their group.

Dean's got a hold of himself, sitting up gingerly, still breathing deep. "Fuck," he whispers.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah," Dean answers softly, scrubbing his trembling fingers through his hair. "D-d-d-didn't expect to have a p-p-p-p-panic--" His throat locks on the word, and he doesn't bother to finish the thought.

"That was a lot," Castiel agrees, pressing in close and taking Dean's hands in his, pleased when his husband doesn't pull away. "Extremely unexpected. But we'll figure it out."

Dean's grip tightens of Castiel's hands. "The crowds. Mayb-b-be I'm not read-d-dy to d-d-do this yet."

Castiel kisses Dean's temple and keeps their heads close to block out as much of the periphery as he can. Give him at least the illusion of privacy to calm down. "If you're not, you're not. Has Cain been treating you for this?"

"No," Dean answers. "D-d-didn't know it was a thing."

Castiel scoots even closer so that their entire sides are pressed together. "Don't worry about it. We'll deal with it. It might be another hurdle that we have to get over, but we can. We _can_ , Dean."

"Don't wanna be famous," he mumbles.

Castiel snorts. "I know. Neither do I. Charlie will get a lid on this. She always does. In the meantime, we adapt. We can do that much, right?"

"Yeah," Dean answers with a small smile. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel tilts Dean's head towards him and kisses him gently. "You're welcome. So, how's your foot? Can you walk?"

Dean sits up properly and taps his cane, then stamps his foot on the ground a few times. "S'all good."

"Good." Castiel stands and holds his hand out, hauling Dean up with him. He staggers a bit, but then rights himself properly, waving off Castiel's further assistance.

"Sorry, man," he mumbles. "My one job was to not cause t-t-trouble."

"You're not," Castiel insists severely. He puts his hand on Dean's shoulder to stall him. "I mean it, Dean. This is _exactly_ the purpose of the re-training. We were prepared for this."

"God-d-d, I love you," Dean says expansively.

Grinning, Castiel releases his husband, starts down the hall, and throws over his shoulder, "I know." He enjoys the laugh that follows him.

Sam is already in makeup once Dean and Castiel make it to the backstage area. "Hey!" Sam greets. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah," Dean answers before Castiel can, knowing that his brother just didn't want to single him out. "Sorry for the b-b-bullshit."

"No worries!" Sam says. "I mean, I guess it's good that we know what we're up against. But, that was crazy, right? What the hell is going on?"

Charlie, being the miracle worker that she is, has an answer already. "Sam's interview after the accident really hit it online," she says sourly. "Of course, I was stupid and didn't factor in Dean or Castiel's names in my flags, so it went right under the radar. Plus, Lucifer's story has hit it big in the national news. Guess it was just a slow news day and he got lucky. Unlucky for us. I'm tracking it all back so that we can get a handle on it."

Gabriel is kicked back on the couch working his tablet and phone as well. "Could be good for us, though."

Dean's eyes narrow dangerously. "Hey," he warns.

He's sure that Gabriel is just ignoring his tone when he fails to look up, and continues, "sometimes any news is good news. We can spin this."

Sam beats both Dean's fury and Castiel's indignation to the punch. "Gabriel, I swear to God. You promised!"

Gabriel looks up, startled. "What?"

Sam turns in his chair, pointing an angry finger at his boyfriend. "You promised! No more shady news stories and no more of that 'any news is good news.' Positive press got me this far, and you said you wouldn't have signed that exclusivity contract with me if you didn't think I could hack being famous on my own merits. Dean isn't a pawn in some media scheme!"

A slow, mischievous smile pulls up Gabriel's lips. "Sorry. Old habits die hard. I keep forgetting that talent is a thing."

But Sam isn't being placated so easily. In fact, his ire only seems to grow. "If you and Charlie can't get my brother out of the spotlight, then you can't do the job that I'm paying you for, and I'll find someone else."

"Low blow," Charlie bites back. "I said I've got this, and I do, okay? Or are you suddenly not big on second chances?"

"Enough!" Dean barks. The dressing room goes eerily silent. "Sam, it'll b-b-be fine. Gabe. Unlearn your asshole quicker, okay? Charlie, you d-d-do you. The rest of us? Calm the fuck d-d-down. We can handle this."

There's a murmur of assent and then a subdued atmosphere as Sam gets into wardrobe and they wait to be called to the soundstage. Before leaving, Sam claps his brother on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about all of this, Dean."

"D-d-don't be," he answers gruffly. "I can take it."

Sam gives him a searching look, another pat, and then he's off. Dean sighs. "Charlie..."

She flips her red hair over her shoulder defiantly. "I'm a big girl. I can take a reprimand. No excuses, no apologies. I'll just fix it."

Dean grabs her in a one-armed hug, kissing the top of her head. "Love you."

She gives him a squeeze and then is kicking him out to do his damn job. Which he's happy to tackle, back seat or not. He's more than thrilled to have Castiel in his ear over the radio again, even with the addition of Jack. It's all welcome now. And it does a lot to ease Dean's mind further as Castiel points out all of the practical applications of their training to Jack, who answers in kind when posed with questions. The kid's focused. And he's good.

Aside from the hiccup before, the rest goes as smooth as silk. Jack knows the drill inside and out. More than that, he doesn't let Dean play second fiddle to him. He stands beside Dean the entire time without a hint of irony or kowtowing. Dean appreciates not only the gesture, but also the truth of it.

"You're d-doing good work," he murmurs to Jack as the on stage interview winds down.

"Thank you," Jack answers with a smile, eyes not leaving Sam. "I like this work. I like you guys a lot."

Dean nods and keeps canvassing. Yeah, he's definitely going to have to look into glasses or contacts soon. His vision hasn't fully recovered and he's got the sneaking suspicion that it won't. He expects the thought to sting, but it doesn't. Not really. Maybe there are too many other major issues that this one pales in comparison, or maybe he was just wrong at calling psychology "snake oil for the mind" for so long.

"Have you stopped hating me now?" Jack asks suddenly. 

Castiel laughs shortly and it carries over the mic, but this time Dean doesn't feel the need to deflect for appearances just because his husband is eavesdropping. They'd promised no more secrets or lies between them, after all. "Never really d-d-did," Dean says. "It's just..." he sighs.

"You were afraid," Jack pitches in with sincerity.

"Yeah," Dean breathes. Even with his poor eyesight, he can see Castiel from across the stage beaming at him. Jesus, like he needs anyone else in his life smiling at him like he's the smartest kid in the class. He can feel his neck get hot and he ducks his face down. "Yeah, that." He clears his throat. "B-b-but you're part of the family now." He knuckles Jack's shoulder and then shuffles away since the interview is wrapping up.

Sam is secured minutes later, changed, and they make it to the car and back home without incident. 

Dean can't possibly move faster to get to the room to change out of his suit, but he doesn't get far into it before Castiel's on him, flipping him around and slamming him into the door. Before Dean can so much as blink, Castiel's hot mouth is on him, kissing the life out of him. His hands fist into Dean's hair and yank hard.

Dean gasps as he breaks away. "Wha--"

"You're my favorite thing about everything," Castiel growls, pressing their bodies together inch to inch. "Dean, you're--" he breaks off with a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. "You're..." He cups Dean's face in his palms, kissing his husband all over his face adoringly.

Dean gently puts his hands over Castiel's. Even more gently pushing Castiel away. But not far. "What's g-g-got into you?" His smile is serene. Loving.

" _You_ ," Castiel exclaims. "I'm in awe of you, Dean Winchester. How are you so strong?"

Dean grins. "Dunno. I've g-g-got help."

Castiel pushes forward again. Kisses Dean on his lips. "You shouldn't give me credit. You can't. I didn't... all I did was..."

"You stayed," Dean finishes. "Cas. You _stayed_."

Dean shoves away from the door, forcing them back towards the bed. Castiel's hands and mouth won't leave him, but that's fine. He's getting much better at walking when he's got something solid for support. He spins them right before they get to the bed and sits down, tugging Castiel into his lap.

Castiel methodically begins to undress Dean, starting with his tie. "Surely you know by now that I'd only be capable of leaving if you told me to."

Dean smiles and shakes his head silently. 

He puts the tie in the bed, moving on to the shirt buttons. One by one they pop free under his nimble fingers. "I could have handled everything better after your injury." Dean moves to shush him, but Castiel stops him. "Please let me say this." He pushes Dean's jacket off and then his shirt. "There's a lot that I could have - _should have_ \- handled better. But, yes, I stayed. In the end, that was the only thing that I could do for you. I love you, Dean, but I don't ever want that to become toxic for either of us."

"This is the b-b-best thing that's ever happened to me," Dean says simply. "All this?" He shrugs and gestures, indicating himself and everything around them before settling his hands on Castiel's hips. "All of it is worth it. I d-d-don't care that it's me. I'm d-d-d-different now, b-but I'll b-b-be fine." He tilts his chin up, chasing Castiel's mouth. Blindly, he unbuttons Castiel's shirt, undoes the tie, and gets rid of the layers separating them. Their pants are a little trickier to get off, but it's fine when Dean ends up on his back, Castiel straddling his thighs. "We're fine."

Even better when Castiel decides to take his time exploring his husband's body. His mouth is something holy in its reverence until Dean feels sufficiently baptized by it. Especially when, no matter how hot their bodies get, Castiel's ministrations remain tender. Even when the heat of his mouth closes fully around Dean's dick, it doesn't feel frantic at all. Dean feels both engulfed and adored. Then there's the snap of a lube cap and Dean silently prays his gratitude that he'd cleaned himself properly that morning.

Castiel's blunt finger circles his rim, warming the lube. He slips past the resistance easily, and Dean's hips buck up to drive him deeper. Castiel's finger hits his prostate so unerringly that he spasms and his foot locks up completely. "Sh-sh-shit!" he gasps.

Castiel jumps back. "Oh, God! Oh, shit! Your foot is! It's... um... Dean, your foot is... vibrating?"

Dean huffs. Chuckles. Castiel gives a nervous laugh himself. His face is so flushed and alarmed that Dean can't keep it in. He starts laughing until his sides hurt.

Half-laughing, half-admonishing, Castiel says, "Dean, please! I don't want to have broken your foot! It's so expensive and... blue!"

Dean rolls onto his side laughing even harder. He tries a dozen times to say it's fine, totally fine, but he can't get the words out through his laughter. Castiel has toppled off of him, and Dean moves towards him. "'S'fine," he manages eventually. "Just l-l-low on b-b-b-b-batteries." He sits up and fanagles the foot off, sliding it to the oak chest at the bottom of the bed so that it doesn't get broken. 

Then he's back on Castiel, urging him on top and to action. Which he does enthusiastically. Carefully. His clever fingers are back to Dean's most intimate places, simultaneously pushing into his body and drawing him out of his mind. It's a beautiful sensation that's been so lacking for so long that he wants to make up for all that lost time and not come back down for weeks. 

Castiel knows it. Of course he does. He stretches Dean meticulously. Adds a generous amount of lube to his fingers and Dean's hole, layering plentiful kisses over his belly and thighs. Dean squirms and writhes underneath him, but doesn't urge him faster. Castiel will always give them both what they need. He always has, and there's no doubting it now.

But then there's the distinct moment where they're beyond ready. Castiel picks himself back up and cleans his hand with one of the antibacterial wipes. 

Dean raises his arms and Castiel falls into them, kiss upon kiss over his lips. Then he lowers his hips and takes the base of his cock in hand, pressing against Dean's hole. Dean spreads his legs wide, bending his knees and wrapping his legs around Castiel's waist.

Slowly, Castiel moves his hips forward. Dean makes a beautiful noise when he's breached, clenching his legs around his husband.

It feels different to Castiel. Even as his pleasure intensifies the further he goes. Dean's weight isn't even on his legs anymore. His right leg is heavier against his lower back, and there's no dig of a heel from the left leg. Different. But also exquisite. Once fully sheathed and braced panting against Dean's chest, he takes a moment to center himself. Tonight isn't the night to only look to himself and his inability to make it last.

Dean loves making it difficult, though. He barely wastes a minute before he's rolling his hips up, moving Castiel inside of him. The both moan. Dean's hands clamp around Castiel's forearms, and he doesn't look away while they move together. 

It's frighteningly good how easily they match their movements. Unreal the way that Dean smiles at him, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. "Never stop," he says, and Castiel jolts to his core. He could _never_. He brings their mouths together again, and it liberates him in a way he never thought he'd have been capable of. But Dean is a lot of things to him, and most of them are life-changing.

Therefore he allows himself to revel in the sensation of sparks as their bodies thrust together. He drinks away all of Dean's gasps and moans. Soothes the trembling in his limbs and his muscles with mindless words of praise. And when Dean comes with a choked off sigh, untouched, internal muscles clenching around Castiel's dick, it takes him right along with the current.

And it's not an explosion. There's nothing violent about it, though it is extremely overwhelming. Spots flit around behind Castiel's closed eyelids as he struggles to suck in a full breath. It's Dean shifting under him that grounds him enough to open his eyes and pull out. 

Dean's blissed out grin is something to behold as he offers out the box of tissues to clean them with. "Okay?" he asks lightly.

"Maybe," Castiel answers heavily. "Are you?"

Dean nods, eyes half-lidded. "Need-d-d-ded that."

Castiel turns on to his side to face Dean. "Is now the time for a serious discussion, or is the afterglow still too much?"

Dean chuckles. "B-b-been getting used to it. G-g-go ahead."

"Agent Henricksen called this morning with an update on Lucifer Pellegrino." He hates the way that Dean's jaw muscle twitches at the mention of that man, but he spreads out on the bed, falls back against his pillow, and lets the ceiling fan cool him off. He nods, and Castiel continues. "He's being extradited to Atlanta. You're going to be called to testify."

"Fine," Dean says sharply. "Long as th-that asshole it put away."

Castiel reaches out and takes Dean's hand. "Agreed. There's something else, though." He hesitates, idly playing with Dean's fingers. Grateful that Dean lets him have a moment to collect his thoughts. He doesn't want any part of the next, but he'd promised Henricksen he'd ask. But putting Dean through more trouble is almost more than he can bear. But in the long run, it might be more beneficial than harmful. "Lucifer says he'll enter a guilty plea to attempted murder, and also plead guilty to the crimes that Michael was accused of. But his condition is that he wants both you and I to be present for his interview."

Dean scowls hard. "He's up to something."

"I thought so, too," Castiel admits. "Dean, if you don't want to--"

"I want t-t-t-to. Cas." His fingers tighten around Castiel's. "I'm in."


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Dean and Castiel spend the night before returning to Atlanta comforting one another in the best way they know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  foot fetish   
> suspension play  
> edging
> 
>  
> 
> Thank y'all for your amazing patience over the past month when I haven't been able to update! I hope this sexy chapter makes up for the wait!

"I said no pressure, and I meant it," Dean says slowly, measured, keeping control of his speech. 

"I know you did, and I believe you," Castiel answers. "I'm just nervous. I'm worried that I want this so much that I'm blinding myself to the risks."

Dean steps closer, but not quite into Castiel's space. "D-d-do you feel like it's too b-b-big a risk?"

Castiel smiles wryly. "It never does with you, that's the problem. I feel as though I often lose my objectivity."

"I know my limits," Dean reminds him. And Castiel seems to trust that more and more every day. The implant surgery had gone well, and Dean is plenty healed from it. Kevin and Chuck are over the moon with the data they've collected and go so far as to say - though definitely an exaggeration - that Dean is single-handedly going to win them the funding for a full clinical trial. 

But that's been the only good news in the past few weeks.

"What else is this about?" Castiel asks shrewdly, crossing his arms over his chest. He's not intent on deflecting Dean at every turn, but he's asking for a lot. Things that they haven't been able to do in nearly three months, so a full breakdown of their mental states is a necessary place to start.

"Atlanta's gonna b-b-be a shitshow," Dean answers openly. "The plane. Lucifer. The trial. Need-d-d ya to ground me, Cas. Please."

Castiel tries not to smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle, blue eyes sparkling. He heaves a dramatic sigh. "How can I say no to you when you're already half naked wearing those tempting glasses?"

Unconsciously, Dean reaches up and pushes the black framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Um."

Castiel takes the last few steps into Dean's personal space, sliding his hands up his naked chest. "Were they expensive?"

"Yeah," Dean grins. 

"I suppose I'll just have to be careful then. Don't take them off yet."

Dean shivers at the order and nods. "So, you'll d-d-do it?"

Tomorrow is going to suck. They're going to have to give their jobs over to Bobby and Jack again. They're going to have to get on an airplane back to the city where Dean almost lost his life. They're going to have to face the man who wanted Sam chained and Dean dead.   
Tonight is a good night for Dean to want more. "I have something for you," Castiel says. "Can you wait here for a minute?"

Dean nods, shifting his weight to his right foot, and staying in the middle of the exercise room while Castiel leaves.

He's only gone for a minute, returning with a small cedar box. Dean blinks at it. It looks too small to be any sort of toy for their scenes, but Castiel is still holding it like he's embarrassed to give it to Dean. His eyes are trained on the floor, ears pink.

Intrigued Dean takes the box, but doesn't open it. "Cas," he says softly. 

Castiel shifts, rubbing the top of his left foot over his right ankle. "It's..." He swallows. "Just open it," he finishes, pained.

Dean opens the box. His brain has barely processed what he's seeing before his head is shooting up, heat flaring through him. "This..."

Castiel uses his toe to lift the hem of his pants and expose his own ankle.

Dean comes even closer. "Holy shit. You..." He looks back down in the box.

An anklet. A new one. One for each of them. And they look identical. Dean rubs his fingers over the woven design. Platinum with yellow gold. Braided strong and beautiful. "You have one, too," is all he can manage to say. He's entranced by the gift, but also feels a little cheated that he didn't get to put Castiel's on for him. 

But Castiel is still nearly keen to the desire because he says, "I didn't lock mine yet. I wanted you to. If you wanted to."

Dean very much wants to. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I... Jesus, Cas." He sits down on the bench, his husband kneeling before him. "When?"

"I got them back last night," Castiel says. "It took me a long time to decide what to put for the inscription, or even if we should have one at all. But, I think 'amans, socius, in aeternum' is nice."

_Lover, partner, forever._

Dean nods. "I like it. Put it on me."

Beaming, Castiel unclasps the anklet and slips it over Dean's foot. "I won't interfere with your hardware, will it?"

Dean shrugs and shakes his head. "Should b-be fine. The b-b-b-battle wear is mad-d-de to take a lot."

That's really all the convincing he needs. Castiel turns the small key at the bottom of the anklet to lock it, and then breaks the fragile thing off. 

And in the way that Castiel looks up at him, eyes shining, Dean can see that he is beautiful to him. But even more sometimes when he willingly wears symbols of their partnership. Their love. And it seems appropriate to share not only the symbol of their marriage, but also their shared lifestyle.

Castiel sits back and props his foot in Dean's lap so that he can lock his anklet as well. It tightens slightly when he turns the key, and he can feel the pleasant sensation deep in his chest too when Castiel shivers. Then Dean literally throws away the key by tossing it over his shoulder. They'll never find the tiny thing again.

Castiel laughs softly, the sound saturated with love. Dean touches the tips of his fingers to Castiel's anklet, strokes over the back of his heel. Draws Castiel's foot out straight in his lap and presses a small kiss to the ankle bone. A fine tremor shudders through Castiel, obviously startling him. He blinks up at Dean. 

"You g-got a foot fetish you never told me ab-b-bout?"

Castiel shakes his head vigorously. Nods vigorously. Shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. I never... it just felt good, is all."

Dean lets his fingers wander behind Castiel's heel, under his arch. Castiel isn't ticklish, so the way he trembles and throws his head back, jaw clenched, isn't from that. It's him trying to stand it. That's super hot. Dean hooks a finger under the anklet, tugs up and kisses the top of Castiel's foot while he traces over the toes, just to see what will happen. What _happens_ is Castiel makes a loud, filthy moan.

"Cas," he breathes in wonder. 

Castiel is panting, straining, face red. "Dean!" he gasps. 

Dean strokes up behind his ankle, sweeping up. Castiel moans again and flexes his foot, toes digging into Dean's crotch. It feels amazing against his already half-hard cock. His hips jut forward, pushing harder against Castiel's foot, but that seems to bring his husband back to task.

Castiel draws back with a tut. "Now, Dean," he says in his matter-of-factly dominating tone, all semblance of control restored in a flash. "Who's in control of your pleasure right now?"

Dean smiles with a contented sigh. "You are."

"Do you still wish to play the whole scene you brought to me earlier?"

Smiling wider, he answers, "d-d-damn right, I d-do."

Castiel's firm gaze doesn't waver. "And you're still fine removing your foot? Even when it means you won't have full mobility if you wish to end the scene?"

Dean shrugs. "I can hop."

Castiel's lips twitch, then settle to neutral, but the crow's feet around his eyes deepen when the smile he can't let out on his mouth settles there instead. "Fine. I've put the charging dock by the wall closest to where I'll be suspending you. If at any time you feel the need to put it back on, we must end the scene so it doesn't become damaged, and you have agreed to safeword to meet that end. If you feel any pain from your injuries, or any pain that I have not specifically administered, you have agreed to safeword so that we may end the scene immediately and assess your injuries and their cause. Otherwise, the color system will suffice. These terms are acceptable to me. Are they to you?"

Dean nods. "Yeah."

Castiel nods in return. "May we begin? What's your color now, Dean?"

Dean sucks in a deep, steadying breath. He feels like he's been waiting for this very moment for ages. It's certainly been a long time in coming. This is the final return step to get back where they'd been before the accident. Not the same - it can never be that - but equal levels. They've made peace with themselves and with each other. In sickness and in health.

It's a lot to realize that their foundations can, in fact, be shaken. That no love, no marriage, is impervious to attack. They lost a battle or two in the last several months. But when they fought back? They won the fucking war. It was impossible to destroy their marriage. The flame dimmed, but never went out, flashed back up to an inferno, and Dean suspects that all their trials have made them stronger than ever. He _has_ to believe that. It's the only thing that makes sense after everything they've been through.

He doesn't believe in some cosmic balance like Castiel does. He doesn't have faith in God or the universe. But he respects that in his husband. Recognizes the strength in it. They've both got what they need, and that's the blessing - in Castiel's case - or the winning poker hand - in Dean's case - that brings them here to this moment where their hearts are pounding and they're ready to jump off the edge together again.

"I'm read-dy. Green."

For his part, Castiel looks steely and prepared. "Very well. Dean, please step over to the wall, remove your clothing, and sit on the bench facing out. I want you to watch me prepare your bindings. When you're ready, remove your foot and place it in the dock so it can upload to the mothership."

Dean laughs shortly. But he says nothing, only obeys the command. Castiel doesn't move at all until Dean has taken off his pants and boxers, sat down on the bench, and taken off the high tech prosthesis. He even watches Dean strip off the padding and cover from his leg. 

It occurs to him that Castiel hasn't _truly_ seen the aftermath of the amputation. Dean himself only looks at it to bathe. It's not that he's repulsed by it, but thinking about it or looking at it too much makes the phantom pain worse. The mirror therapy helps when Lisa does it, but there are always occasional flare ups. 

But he watches carefully as Castiel watches him. His heart begins to race something awful, but he refuses to squirm. Instead, he does what Cain had taught him. He breathes in evenly until his lungs are full, counts down eight seconds, and then releases the breath. All the while he keeps his eyes trained on Castiel, waiting. For what? He couldn't say. He just knows it's a test. Not sure what for, but it _is_. 

And Castiel wastes a minute or two of the test time looking over every inch of Dean with something like heat. Something like longing. Dean can actually see his dick swelling against the front of his sweatpants. They've had sex before now, so that part shouldn't be a surprise, but it kind of is. 

"What are you thinking ab-b-bout?" Dean asks softly since Castiel hasn't told him he couldn't speak.

His voice seems to shake something in Castiel loose. He blinks, unfreezing, moving on to the recessed wall where they'd installed drawers and cabinets to store a lot of their toys. "Just you," he says blithely. "What I want to do to you tonight." The rope drawer is at waist height, and Castiel goes to it without a moment's hesitation. When he turns to face Dean again, he's holding a few large bundles of black rope. They've never used it before. He'd explained that it was for full suspension, and they'd never reached that level before the accident. But every time Castiel opened the drawer with the dozens of colors, he would brush his fingers over the black. It was obviously his favorite.

Whenever Dean saw it, he ached with the need for it. It had become some Pavlovian response that he wasn't even sure that Castiel was aware of. He'd certainly never told him. Didn't plan to now that he was getting what he wanted to scratch the itch. The goal is in sight after all this time. 

Castiel is smiling when he approaches Dean again. It's a wicked thing, bright, but toothy. His excitement is palpable. But his control is bigger. He says nothing, just stops a couple of feet in front of him and reaches over his head to bring down the rope and pulley system with the ceiling rings. Sometimes Dean thinks that Castiel would be better suited for an old school pirate ship the way he can rig ropes. 

Casually, Castiel unwinds the rope to let the tail cascade to the ground. It makes a satisfying thump against the mats. All the while he continues to watch Dean watching him. It's stunning to Dean how good Castiel is at this. There's no hesitation to his movements; no uncertainty. The sheer amount of time he must have spent learning and practicing boggles Dean's mind. 

Castiel spends a deliberate amount of time taking one of the ropes and tying it off to the ceiling ring as the load-bearing rope. Then he unwinds the other bundles to tie Dean with. Finally, the pre-set is done. Castiel tests the locks and rope by yanking it hard. It performs as expected, and then he's closing the gap between him and Dean with purposeful strides. Dean barely has the chance to look up before Castiel bends forward and grabs Dean's chin, jerking it up. Dean straightens his back, rising up as high as he can go without standing. Castiel is only a breath away when he says roughly, "I was going to gag you, but I think I'd rather hear you scream."

Dean's cock twitches and he moans breathily.

Castiel grins slowly. "Will you make me work for your beautiful sounds tonight?"

His look isn't reprimanding in the slightest. Dean searches his face for the truth, and easily sees it. Castiel wants him to do it. Wants him to be as challenging in his pleasure as he can. It's confusing for a second until it dawns on Dean that Castiel wants to prove himself, too. They both need to see if they've still got in them what they were so close to losing.

So in answer to Castiel's question, Dean remains silent except to cock his head slightly to the side with a one shouldered shrug.

Castiel looks like he wants to eat Dean alive. "I love you," he says heatedly, slipping Dean's glasses from his face and daintily placing them on the bench.

The embers of a smile begin on Dean's lips. "I love you, too."

Castiel surges forward, kissing Dean hard enough to steal his breath and his balance. Castiel catches him, but it's a misdirect. He uses the momentum to grab both of Dean's hands and secure them separately in the black rope at the speed of light. It feels incredible, and Dean huffs at the sensation of being bound, even just a little.

Castiel's grin curves against his mouth as he dives back in for another wet kiss. When he pulls back, he murmurs, "that easy?"

Dean thrusts his tongue into his husband's mouth in response, pulling out all the stops, feeling the rumble of a groan against his palms where they're pressed flat against Castiel's chest. Castiel is the one to break the kiss so that he can suck in fortifying lungfuls of air. Dean revels in the sight of the man's flushed face and swollen, shiny lips.

Slowly, Castiel sinks to his knees on the mats, scoots back a couple of feet, and then yanks as hard as he can on the rope line attached to Dean's wrists. He tumbles off the bench, straight to his knees, practically in Castiel's lap. "Trust me and don't fight the ropes," he murmurs, in a hypnotic, rhythmic cadence. "I am in control of them, and I'm in control of you."

Dean nods once, straining forward, aching for more.

But Castiel pulls away and stands, but keeps hold of the rope. He circles around behind Dean, pulling his arms behind his back. "I thought about leaving your arms free since this is our first time trying this, but I've changed my mind."

Dean loves it when that happens. His muscles are already relaxing. Castiel maneuvers his arms like it's nothing, bending Dean's elbows and crossing his forearms so that they rest flat against his back. He takes the lead rope on Dean's right wrist and pulls it across his chest, then the left, looping them around a few times in a simple harness before tying them off in a holding knot behind his back.

The rope has almost no give. Dean can feel it pressing hard every time his chest expands to breathe. It's secure, tight, wonderful. Being wrapped up for Castiel like this is truly one of his life's greatest pleasures. And as much as he tries not to show it directly yet, Castiel has grown to become an expert in reading Dean Winchester.

When he comes around to Dean's front again after tossing the ends of the rope through one of the ceiling hooks, he gets a look at his sub and says lightly, "I've never known anyone as responsive to binding as you are." The mildly questioning tone compels Dean to answer.

He shuffles on his knees, spreading himself wider for balance. He's not sure why, but the backs of his eyes start to burn with the gentle threat of tears. "'Cause it's y-y-you," he answers. "All of-f-f-f it feels like y-y-you."

"It is me," Castiel confirms softly. "It's all of me. And it's yours." He starts to walk backwards, pulling the rope taut through the ceiling ring until Dean is forced to lean forward to counterbalance, shifting his weight from his legs to his chest. He has to work to breathe properly, and he loves it, this exacting and methodical loss of control.

The second length of rope goes around his sternum, then to the lead line on his wrists, and then Castiel abandons it for the last length of rope to bind his legs. It's the only time he hesitates. He kneels down in front of Dean, looking for all the world like he's about to start praying. "Has your flexibility been improving?"

Dean nods. 

Castiel takes Dean's face in his hands, urging his chin up for a tender kiss. It's jarring and shakes loose a sob in Dean's chest. All of it feels so good. So complete. And they've barely even started yet.

Castiel draws back, but it hardly feels like a loss when he says, "I'm going to do your legs now."

Dean thinks he says, "please," but through the rushing in his ears, it might have only been a thin whimper. It doesn't matter because Castiel gets the idea.

He's around to the back of Dean again, and instructs, "let the ropes have your weight. Don't struggle against them." He starts the leg binding just about Dean's anklet; first around his calves, then around his thighs. Up and under and around until nearly his whole leg is encased in the strong rope. Each knot lifts his leg higher until his heel is nearly pressed against his thigh. He falls into the ropes even more, Castiel making a pleased noise.

Dean moans at the overwhelming sensations. The ropes barely move, but they scratch at Dean's skin a little and it's enough to make his over-sensitive nerves sing. He's careful not to squirm too much lest Castiel try to stop him from moving at all. But his Dom is busy securing all the rope to the middle lead before moving on to the other leg. He tries to stay relaxed, but can't help the tension that immediately whips through him when he feels Castiel's warm hands on his calf, right where the scarring from the amputation starts.

"It's okay," Castiel says soothingly. "I'll be gentle."

Dean doesn't _really_ want to be treated gently in this sort of situation, but he understands what Castiel means. Treading a bit lightly around Dean's lack of foot Accepting it and it becoming completely normal are two different things, especially considering Castiel hasn't been this close to it unwrapped before. 

However, he's still firm and confident from what Dean can tell just by his hands unerringly doing the work of securing his leg similarly to the other, but looser so that he can move it some. It's healed nicely, but they still can't risk cutting off regular circulation too much. 

In the act of focusing on it, Dean begins to stop focusing on it. The old, familiar sensation of losing himself to the ropes begins to tingle all over his body. It's tight and comforting the way he's held fast. His joints start to ache pleasantly being tied fast. 

Then Castiel says, "I'm going to start lifting you now."

Dean's body flashes hot and a moan escapes him. His dick hardens completely, anticipation being as big of a turn-on as the act itself.

The ropes tighten, squeak, and then after a moment of pure anticipation, Dean feels himself being lifted off the ground. The choked "oh, God," he meant to keep to himself must have slipped out because the lift stops abruptly. He can hear the shift of Castiel's clothing and his sharp intake of breath. _He's about to stop!_ Dean realizes in a sudden, sickening panic. "D-d-don't!" he yells roughly. He can feel himself start to sweat and shake. "I'm g-g-good! Green! D-d-don't take th-this away f-f-from me!"

The lines jerk hard and Dean cries out, rising further off the ground. He dips forward until his body is parallel with the mats. "No, Dean," Castiel says, equally rough. "I won't take this away from us. Not this time."

The relief is astounding. As is the helplessness. He's completely bared, head bowed. _Fuck_ , it's like he could come just like this. The pleasure ripples down from the crown of his head, fogging his brain, making him gasp and pant. He doesn't even register Castiel coming to the front again and sinking to his knees. His lips are on Dean's cheeks, jaw, mouth, and they're supposed to be calming but Dean feels like he could float away if he was untied. 

"Open your eyes," Castiel commands in an intimate command. 

Dean struggles to obey, eventually prying them open. His vision is swimming and blotchy. Castiel is smiling at him. He's making his Dom so happy right now. It's so amazing to see again. They've been plenty happy in the last couple of months, of course, but this unbridled joy on Castiel's face at being back in his element - being able to do this again - has still been a long time in coming. Dean tries to smile in return, but he's too blissed out to even get his facial muscles to cooperate.

"You need to breathe, my love."

Dean drags in a noisy lungful of air. The spots in front of his eyes clear.

"That's my good boy."

Dean flushes at the praise, hoping it grounds him, so to speak, but it doesn't. He drifts higher, eyelids drooping to half mast.

Castiel doesn't mind, though. He's only lifted Dean maybe three feet off the ground, but it feels a hell of a lot higher when Castiel plants his palms down on the ground and pushes himself under Dean. There's just enough space that his lips trail light and teasing down Dean's neck, flicks of his tongue making Dean twitch and bite his bottom lip. He remembers Castiel wanting to work for Dean's pleasure. Well he is. Hard. 

And Castiel is acting like he has all the time in the world as he meanders over Dean's exposed skin, around the ropes. He flicks his tongue against Dean's nipple, then blows on it, causing Dean's back to arch as far as he can. He gasps and squirms, but the ropes hold him steady. There's no reprimand, either. Castiel is serious about Dean's pleasure and his own ability to give it. He keeps moving, never spending to much time in one place, which works for Dean because it feels like an eternity before Castiel is nosing against his belly button, the bottom of his chin brushing Dean's rock hard dick.

Dean grits his teeth in expectation of absolute light torture on his cock, but Castiel is a master when he's guiding a scene. This is that time. He opens his mouth and swallows Dean down to the root without warning, deep throating him like he's done it a million times before.

Dean startles and shouts, arms and legs spasming, even though they've got nowhere to go. Castiel makes a pleased hum in his throat, and Dean is _there_. He's _right the fuck there_. So, naturally, Castiel pulls off of him abruptly.

The sound that Dean makes in response can't be called anything other than a keening whine.

But his Dom is having none of that. He slides out from under Dean, stands, and brushes his knees off casually. Dean would strangle him if his hands were free, but that's exactly the kind of attitude that turns the pleasure into punishment. Tonight isn't about that. So he stops and heaves in another deep breath.

Castiel stays near Dean's hips, brushing his hands over Dean's sweat-sheened hips, fingers walking themselves into the valley of his spine. Then he stops touching for a moment and there's the click of a bottle. Bastard had lube in his pocket. Dean's not sure he can handle that.

Wordlessly, a lubed finger traces a meandering path between his spread legs, down his cleft, and circles his hole. Dean's ass clenches and Castiel squeezes the meat of him with his free hand. Dean's body is buzzing so ferociously with need that he barely feels it. Then Castiel's finger deftly slips inside him, the mild burn of the stretch enough to light him on fire. It presses deeper until the tip nudges against his prostate and Dean shudders again. Castiel's left hand reaches under to fondle his balls then he wraps his hand around his cock, jacking him with loose, lazy pumps of his fist.

It's so overwhelming that Dean's body isn't sure how to react. It's definitely pleasant, but it's edging towards over stimulation. Castiel has done this to him before, and it was intense then, but they've never quite put all the pieces together. 

And then he's reintroduced to another piece when Castiel's hand leaves Dean's dick and slaps him sharply on the ass. Dean spasms so hard this time, that he clenches enough around Castiel's finger to nearly force it out. His eyes fly open and he watches his tears patter to the mat.

Castiel stops again, trying to sooth him with careful hands on his back, but all it does it make it harder to come down. His voice is getting hoarse with his harsh, noisy panting. He's barely centered when Castiel is at him again, this time only on his dick, but that somehow makes it worse. A third time he stops. A fourth. 

Dean's teeth chatter with the effort to hold himself back. Hold himself together. He cries and begs; it's all nonsense save for a couple of "C-C-C-Cas, ple-e-e-ease," sobs that make it out.

The fifth time, Castiel steps in front of Dean again. He somehow had gotten naked during the torture, the hair at his temples matted with sweat, mouth open with his harsh breathing. "Dean," he whispers like he's coming apart worse than his sub. "Dean, I..." he blows out a ragged puff of air. "I wish you could see yourself right now." His fingers tremble when he touches Dean's bottom lip, swiping away saliva and tears with his thumb.

"T-t-t-tell m-m-me," Dean whispers, voice long abandoned. Castiel shifts, his flushed, hard dick nearly at eye level. Dean's mouth _waters_. He swallows audibly. Sucks Castiel's thumb into his mouth, his invitation clear.

Castiel groans and juts his hips forward slowly, taking the base of his cock in his hand to guide it slowly into Dean's mouth. "Your skin is red. You blush so beautifully, and your skin takes the rope marks perfectly." 

The utter relief that courses through Dean being filled like this is almost as good as an orgasm. It's the thing that grounds him. Castiel's hands painfully tangled in his hair to hold him still as he fucks languidly into his mouth, the sensation of his silky dick sliding along his tongue. It's everything to him. "It makes your scars stand out white on your face and back. It's... _mph_... Dean, you're _transcendent_."

He doesn't know about that, but he does know it's true for his husband. And that's enough. That's what makes him work even harder for this moment. To make Castiel fly apart the way that only he can.

"Dean," Castiel gasps, I'm going to--" he makes a move to pull off, but that's the last thing in the world that Dean wants. He can't do anything to stop it except hollow his cheeks and suck hard. Castiel comes with a broken cry when only the tip of his dick remains and Dean's mouth. But that's fine. It's fucking wonderful. Dean swallows every drop of his Dom, suckling the head until Castiel's legs nearly give out on him.

Then he lurches to the side, his knees hit the floor, and he's under Dean again, this time giving him the blowjob of his life. He deep throats again like Dean never could manage, and swallows. The flex of his throat and his unending moans shoot vibrations through his cock, straight to the base of his spine, and when Dean _finally_ lets go, it feels painfully like it'll never stop. It does, though. It has to. His body is so wrung out and so fully stimulated, that he worries about blacking out. Hell, he probably does because the next thing he knows, he's on the mats. A snap later which could have been full minutes, his legs are unbound and flopping down. Then his arms. The ropes fall away, and with them, Dean's mortal body. It's like he's oozing into a puddle on the floor.

A moment later he bonelessly allows himself to be gathered into Castiel's arms. It feels like they're both trembling. Dean buries his face against his husband's damp neck, smelling his musk, tasting the salt. Nothing registers for a stretch of time.

Then...

The tightness of Castiel's arms feels more... clingy than normal after a scene. The way he shakes. His unsteady breathing. Castiel is _crying_.

Dean slides his leaden head up to rest his forehead against Castiel's temple. "Hey," he sighs.

"I'm happy," Castiel assures him, ever the mind reader now that Dean sometimes needs to shorten his sentences until he can articulate properly again. "I'm so happy, but it's... so much. It has nowhere else to go."

Dean smiles. Kisses his cheek. He understands that all too well. "Yeah."

Clearly, Castiel doesn't want to have a heart-to-heart, or a breakdown in the middle of the exercise room, so he manages to pull himself up, and Dean with him, but without his foot, and after such an intense scene, he can't go anywhere without help. If he weren't so thoroughly fucked out, he'd protest the help, but his only goal in life is rapidly becoming getting into bed, so he allows Castiel to brace an arm around his back to help him hop to the adjoining door to their bedroom.

The tumble into the unmade sheets, immediately turning towards each other. Dean wraps himself around Castiel shamelessly, leeching his body heat and silently begging with his body for the return of tender hands on him everywhere.

Castiel is more than happy to oblige. And he calms down fairly quickly, too. "Is there anything you need?" he asks softly onto the crown of Dean's head.

"No," Dean answers. "G-g-got everything I need-d-d."

"You should at least drink some juice so you don't crash so hard tomorrow," Castiel murmurs.

"W-w-w-wake me up early," Dean says on a yawn.

Castiel's quiet chuckle rumbles against him like distant thunder. "You're an angry sleeper. Like a bear."

Dean wiggles over so that he can kiss his husband to shut him up. It works for once. "Wake m-me up."

Castiel strokes a finger down Dean's cheek along the scars with a breathtakingly affectionate smile. "I will. Good night, Dean. I love you."

One more kiss, and Dean is laying back down, the pull of sleep impossible to ignore now. "I love you, too."

The morning can come however it wants. He's got what he needs to fight the worst of them. And he always will.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Dean and Castiel arrive in Atlanta. They ready themselves for Lucifer's trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  pain play  
> rope bondage  
> bottom!Castiel  
> top!Dean  
> topping from the bottom  
> ride 'im cowboy

Sam blocks the exit to the garage, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted. "Dean," he says in his infamously warning tone.

Dean should have expected this. He's been avoiding his brother for a week to specifically not have this particular conversation, but there's no getting around the gigantic man planted between him and his only escape. He sighs audibly. "Sam," he says wearily. "I know what you're g-g-gonna say. You're the only one not b-b-backing me up here."

Sam sighs even more audibly. "I feel like I'm the only one looking out for you here."

Okay, Dean _didn't_ know what Sam was going to say. It pulls him up short. "What's that mean?"

Sam glances over his shoulder like he's afraid of being overheard. He takes Dean by the elbow and scoots them into the never-used formal dining room. There's only one entry, so no one can sneak up on them. Dean's brow furrows as he watches Sam check the hall and then shut the door. This is more than just concern for Dean. His brother now has his full attention. 

Sam gives him a long, apologetic look. "I'm worried about why you're doing this," he says eventually. 

They have limited time for a heart to heart, which Dean is pretty grateful for. He's got enough anxiety about all of this without having to deal with Sam's deeper emotions ten minutes before leaving for the airport to face the worst days of his life again. He can try to cut it off, though, so he says, "I'm d-d-doing this for you. To keep Lucifer where he b-b-b-belongs."

"Yeah, I get that," Sam answers, keeping his voice low. "But... like... whether you go or not, he's gonna be behind bars for a long time. Maybe for the rest of his damn life. I don't get why _you_ need to go down there and talk to him face to face just because he wants you to."

"I'm not," Dean insists. "Look..." He perches on the edge of the fancy glass table to take some of the stress off of his foot. It's worlds better than his first prosthesis, but while he's still getting used to it, his leg fatigues easily. "Cas d-d-didn't wanna give you the d-d-details b-b-because he thought you'd worry too much. Lucifer's going-g-g for the insanity d-defense."

Sam snorts. "Whatever. That'll never work. He did a lot of crazy shit, but he wasn't out of his mind when he did. He's a psycho, but he was in control of himself when he went after that other actress, and when he tried for me and then for you."

"He's an actor, too," Dean tells him grimly. "He can't out-psych a good psychiatrist, b-b-but he _can_ sway a jury. That's all he needs to d-d-do. Even one hung jury can put him b-b-back on the street, or with a minimum sentence in a low security mental ward."

Sam pales, stepping back to brace himself against the wall. "And you think that'll actually _happen_?"

Dean shrugs. "Henriksen thinks it could-d-d."

"Jesus," Sam breathes. He claws his hands through his hair, breath heavy in his chest. "So... okay, so, what's the real benefit of you going? You can't be an expert witness since you're a victim, and Cas said that your sworn statement was enough to meet your testimony requirements. I mean, I'm not saying you shouldn't take the stand. You did that all the time when you were a cop and in the FBI, and you're great under pressure. But... sitting down in a room with Lucifer a foot away? I don't like it, Dean. You said he's an actor, and we know he's a manipulator. Who knows what he'll try to do to you?"

"I d-d-do," Dean says. "He'll try to br-br-break me. He wants to see what I've 'b-been red-d-duced to.' He thinks he can hurt me."

With all the aching sympathy in the world, Sam asks plaintively, "well... can he?"

"No," Dean assures him firmly. "Guy like him? I can hand-d-dle it. I've spent all three of my careers d-d-dealing with guys like him. Look, Sammy. I won't be alone with him ever. Henriksen and Cas'll be right there the whole time. That was the d-d-deal. We'll have our coffee d-date, I'll take the stand, and we'll make sure that son of a b-b-bitch never sees blue sky again."

"Even so, there's no real benefit."

Dean shakes his head. "Lucifer made a d-d-deal. Said that if I'm at his interview, he'll plead-d-d guilty. Then the trial is only for sentencing."

Sam's shoulders hunch. "How can the lawyers think it's not a slam dunk already?"

"B-b-because this takes away all the other variables. I need this win, and _this_ is the slam d-d-dunk."

Sam grimaces. "I'm just... I'm worried."

"I know," Dean sighs. "B-b-but I can do this."

"No, I know," Sam assures him. "In my mind, I know that. But you've come so far with your recovery and with Cas. If all that came crashing down _again_ because of that bastard..." He cuts himself off and clears his throat.

"He only mad-d-de us stronger," Dean reminds him. And hell, he really actually believes that. It's pretty fucking fortifying. "All of us."

The smile that peeks out on Sam's face is much more genuine. "You're right."

"Home stretch," Dean says. "This'll be b-b-behind us soon."

"Thanks for taking Cas with you."

Dean laughs. "Like I had a choice."

Sam chuckles, too and reaches over to open the door. "Married to _that_ guy? No, you didn't."

"He's a witness, anyway."

"Even so. Don't worry about us here, okay? Jack and Bobby have me covered."

That was far less painful than Dean expected, so he's grateful. Sam is clearly done with his mother-henning, trusting that Dean is healed enough and over the worst of his emotional turmoil to be able to function properly in his own way. It's been a hard road. He can't slight Sam for hovering so closely all these months. But the worst is over. He's sure of it. Lucifer isn't going to push the light at the end of the tunnel further away. Dean won't let him. Castiel won't. Victor won't. It's a hell of a batting lineup. Dean wouldn't bet against them for a second. Plus, Cain had called to say that he'd been subpoenaed as the expert psychiatrist. He's the best Dean's ever met, and that's saying something since he doesn't trust most shrinks as far as he can throw them. Lucifer can try as hard as he wants, but he's only postponing the inevitable. He didn't know what he'd stepped in when he decided to fuck with the Winchesters. There's no coming back from that.

So it's with full confidence that Dean meets Castiel and Benny out in the driveway for their trip to their airport.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

He's scared to go back to Atlanta and face the literal scene of the crime, and he can tell by the hard set of Castiel's jaw, that he's the same. It's strangely comforting. As is the fact that once they're seated in the SUV, Castiel takes his hand and doesn't let go. He holds on through the ride, the check in, and even most of the security bypass that they've earned thanks to Dean's tech and expedited by Castiel's credentials. They make it to the executive lounge without touching, but Dean hates it so he offers his hand to hold wordlessly. The contact remains through boarding, the terrifying take off, the two hour flight, the even more terrifying landing, and the trip to the hotel. Castiel won't let go. Dean won't let go. Not until they're tossing their carry on suitcases onto the bed and Dean starts to complain about being hungry. Castiel insists on room service and finally lets go to flip through the menu.

He orders burgers and pie, a classic that never misses with Dean, and announces that it'll be delivered in thirty minutes.

Dean shrugs and digs into his bag for his foot charger. Then he busies himself with hanging up his suits for the days ahead. This is probably the one time in his life when he's more concerned with wrinkles that Castiel. While facing away from his husband, he asks carefully, "Cas, can you d-d-do something for me tonight?"

He can hear Castiel step towards him. "Yes, anything."

Dean huffs a small laugh at the immediate agreement, unsure whether it'll hold once he asks. He hangs his head and says softly, "I want... no, I _need_ some pain tonight."

Castiel's hand touches his elbow, turning him gently. His beautiful blue eyes are filled with concern. There's also hesitation that makes Dean mourn to see. The hand slides all the way up to touch his cheek. "Please don't look at me like that when you're expressing your needs to me clearly and honestly," he murmurs. "You know I'll do anything for you."

"I know," Dean answers a little sadly. "D-d-don't wanna force you, though."

Castiel steps further into his space. "You're not." His lips tilt up. "Actually, I was expecting something like this with all that's going on."

The relief that courses through Dean is almost a physical thing, it's so strong. "Yeah?"

Castiel nods. "I want to give you everything I have, body and soul, but it would be irresponsible to do an intense scene twenty-four hours after the last if it meant you'd be less than one hundred percent tomorrow when we see Lucifer. We must also consider how recovered you are from last night."

"I'm okay," Dean hastens to assure him. 

Castiel's stern look shows nothing gets past him. "I need a full report of your condition if I'm to responsibly do a scene with you so soon."

Dean resists the automatic desire to roll his eyes, because Castiel is absolutely right. Not everything about a healthy BDSM relationship is sexy. Some parts are methodical. "I'm a little sore," he admits. "Feels like I lifted weights too long with my arms and-d-d back. B-b-but Advil knocks it out completely. And the rest is fine."

"What was your diet like today?"

That question always comes up, so Dean had been diligent all day in preparation for it. "Double protein, extra electrolytes. I'm g-g-good, Cas, I swear."

Castiel's stern expression eases to satisfaction, like he'd been hoping for a clean report, too. "Very well. If you need pain, I'll administer it an hour after dinner. Does that suit you?"

The formally is still a huge turn-on. "Yes."

Castiel grins. "Excellent."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Aside from their usual rules for pain play regarding no permanent marks or blood, they agree tonight that no marks should be left anywhere that Lucifer would have even the most minute chance of seeing. The extra limitation does put more restriction on their scene than either are used to, but with Castiel's wealth of experience as a Dom, he can make it work to suit both their needs. After all, tonight is a good night to bring pure pain play back into their routine.

It's been an unwritten rule that Castiel cause as little pain to Dean as possible since the accident. Dean had been dealing with it enough from his own injuries that using it in the bedroom would have only soured the experience. His body had been so focused on the often excruciating healing process, that it would have been impossible for his brain to separate the good kind of hurt from the bad kind. 

Tonight, though, Dean is ready to accept the pleasurable kind again. At least he hopes so. He won't know how his brain or body are going to react until they're doing it, but Castiel knows that and can watch for the signs instead of leaving the onenus all on Dean. Plus, the secondary pain from their other scenes had been pretty awesome. Mostly, there's just something in his very core telling him that nothing else is going to take away the anxiety and calm him like Castiel's discipline will. No talking or reassurance or hand holding. He needs something more _real_. Something that will stick with him. The lingering firm touch of pleasure that will be with him in the interview when he and Castiel will refuse to touch so that Lucifer has nothing to play on. Then in the courtroom where he and Castiel won't be able to touch in deference to their professional relationship.

He needs this like he needs a decent meal and a memory foam mattress. And he's positive that Castiel needs it, too. Especially when he tells Dean it's time and adds, "I brought some things in anticipation of this."

"I d-d-don't need _things_ ," Dean protests, knowing that Castiel won't be moved by his whining, though he does it anyway. "I just need you."

"You'll have me," Castiel promises sternly. He rips Dean's shirt over his head, baring his chest to the cold air. His palms flatten over Dean's pecs, then he slowly curls his fingers, blunt nails digging into his flesh, scraping hard and closing his hands until he's pinching Dean's nipples.

Dean hisses, pushing into the touch, cock already starting to harden. 

Castiel pulls himself forward, pressing up against his sub. "And you'll also learn that my 'things' are an extension of me, and you'll have them, too."

"Yeah," Dean moans. "G-g-give me anything, long as it hurts." He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it, which earns him a sharp tweak of his nipple.

"Don't," Castiel commands. He grabs Dean's chin. "You will take what I give you and nothing else. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Dean breathes, unwinding further and further with each of Castiel's harsh words. 

"Good," Castiel clips. "Finish undressing and stand in the middle of the room at parade rest. You are not to talk unless permitted, though you may make as much noise as you like. You will not move any part of your body unless instructed. You will not touch yourself or me. Are you clear on these instructions? Please respond by nodding or shaking your head only."

God, that steely voice. It does so many things to Dean, he can't think about it or else he'll break all the rules and throw Castiel down. So he nods once.

"Good. Follow my instructions now."

Dean hops to with a quickness. He strips off his shoes, socks, jeans, and boxers, tripping a little as he does so, but his new tech is pretty damn awesome at keeping him balanced better than the old foot. Since he's supposed to remain standing, his foot stays on. He tries not to peek on Castiel rummaging through his suitcase while he tosses his handful of balled up clothes to the armchair by the window. Then he hustles to the middle of the spacious room and plants his feet a shoulder width apart, arms folded behind him, palms facing out against the small of his back. It naturally pulls his shoulders up, eyes fixed to a point on the wall, tall and proud. 

Castiel checks his stance with a pleased hum. "Your ass looks spectacular this way. Were you the top of your class at Quantico? Parade rest is a natural look on you. You may speak to answer."

In a completely knee jerk reaction, Dean answers, "yes, sir. I graduated with honors and a commend-d-dation in firearms."

"Of course you did," Castiel says in an almost dismissive tone. He stands directly in front of Dean, also falling into a parade rest like it's second nature. Even though their positions are completely identical, something about Castiel seems to have more command than Dean. He does what he's supposed to and keeps his eyes from wandering away from the demure textured swirl on the wallpaper, but he's processing everything about Castiel's stature from his peripheral vision. He's actually pretty glad he's not looking head-on, because standing before him is Captain Novak, United States Marines. It's a bit much to deal with. How did people not fall all over themselves for him back then? Hm. Maybe they did. And Dean Winchester, APD/FBI ended up the one who gets to keep him. 

He doesn't realize he's smirking with smug satisfaction until Castiel's palm cracks across his cheek, only hard enough to sting and leave the faintest of red marks that will face quickly.

"Your mind appears to be wandering," Castiel says with a strict frown. 

"Sorry, sir," Dean answers, immediately chagrined, though the dull burn in his cheek feels amazing. 

"I will accept nothing less than your full attention," Castiel says brusquely. "Have I earned that much?"

"Yes, sir!" Dean answers quickly.

"No more taking." Castiel waits him out. Tests Dean's focus and resolve to behave. Dean can do this. He can do anything for his Dom. He tries to recenter himself, breathing evenly in and out, clearing his mind. He's practiced this with both Cain and Lisa. Mind over matter was a strong analgesic when he was in the worst throes of his recovery, and it works now to keep him in the present.

From behind his back, Castiel pulls out a long length of rope. Dean blinks, but doesn't say anything or move a muscle. He's never seen this kind before. It's plain, tan rope, and it looks incredibly scratchy. Really uncomfortable. It dawns on him slowly, that it's probably the whole goal.

Castiel snaps it out. "Are you all right with this method? Please nod or shake your head."

Dean nods, maybe a little too frantically. He's been slapped, spanked, paddled, pinched, and everything in between. But they'd never really incorporated ropes into their pain play. It's nice to know that with the success of their previous step up in kink, Castiel deems them ready to try even more. And the pain while being bound? _From_ being bound? It's going to be incredible. 

With a small smile, Castiel draws close to Dean and kisses him sweetly, close mouthed. The tender contact startles Dean enough that he only remembers just in time not to press deeper for more. The kiss is utterly distracting. Dean loses track of everything else that Castiel is doing save for the barely-there pressure of his lips trailing over his mouth, then to his cheek bones, then deliberately to his earlobes, tugging each one lightly with his teeth.

Which is unfair, because Dean's ears and the soft skin on his neck just under them are his weak spots. At least he can make noise. He whispers a moan and Castiel responds to it by nuzzling his stubble against Dean's cheek before gently worshipping his lips some more.

He's not even sure how long it goes on, standing at parade rest and letting Castiel kiss him and tease him with nothingness until he's fully hard, but not desperate. This is the good stuff. The kind of arousal that he could soak in for hours. The cloudy high that tingles in his skin and takes its time settling into his muscles and then his bones.

He makes a mental note to one night in the future just lay in bed lazing making out with Castiel until it sedates them both into a peaceful sleep.

Tonight's definitely not that night, however.

For as lingering as the softness was, the abrading pain is the exact opposite. While they'd been making out like they had all the time in the world, Castiel had taken full advantage of his ability to sink Dean into subspace and keep him honed in on whatever he wanted. Through his kisses he'd been looping the rope around Dean's torso loosely. And while Dean had thought the light and teasing brushes against his thighs had merely been Castiel's clothing and fingers, it had actually been more circles of rope around them. 

However, even the best Dom can't completely distract from pulling back to be able to yank on the ends of the rope hard to tighten them all simultaneously. Dean gasps and cries out when the ropes rub harshly against his tender skin. His eyes fly open in surprise and he glances down to view Castiel's handiwork.

It's not artistic. In fact, it looks a lot like a safety harness that people use to go rock climbing or parachuting. The ropes are bound around his torso right under his belly button, crisscrossed around his ass and under his groin muscles, finished off by two loops around his upper thighs. It's all dangerously close to his balls so he worries for a second, but then discards it because this meets all the rules of the scene. It's not in a place Lucifer could even accidentally see it, won't permanently injure or scar him, and it _hurts_. Castiel has only tightened the harness enough for it to be in full contact with Dean's skin and not slip out of place, but it feels like he's being poked with a thousand pine needles. Almost like sandpaper on sunburn. Add that to the worry of it chafing the family jewels, and Dean can't stop from tensing.

"Color?" Castiel asks with deliberate nonchalance. 

"I..." Dean starts uncertainly. "Yellow?"

Castiel meets and holds his gaze. "I've done this before, and I promise I won't damage the equipment. Are you okay to continue?"

Dean hesitates for a moment to consider fully, knowing that Castiel won't take it the wrong way. It's new and the newness is a little scary, but this is _exactly_ what he'd asked for. He's seen time and again Castiel's exacting skill, not for a second doubting his promises both inside and outside of the bedroom. So Dean nods, and Castiel uses the hand holding the ends of the rope to drag Dean towards the bed like he's on leash.

The thought isn't as unappealing as expected.

But it only has a split second to stay because it's being swept away by the discomfort. They could have made it to the bed in five steps, but instead of leading him to the foot of it, Castiel yanks the rope tighter and leads Dean to the far side away from the window. Ten steps means Dean has plenty of time to catalog every bee sting of the frayed rope where it rubs incessantly against the softest, most sensitive skin on his body. It makes him grit his teeth while at the same time being able to revel in the burning sensation left behind.

Once at the bed, Castiel shoves Dean in the chest, knocking him onto his back against the mattress. He doesn't let go of the rope so the slack is taken immediately, cinching the ropes fully. Dean growls when it digs into his skin, grinding on his lower back and ass thanks to his body weight.

The rope ends get abandoned only long enough for Castiel to strip off his own shirt. He tugs the rope in uneven intervals while he deftly removes his shoes and pants one-handed. "Scoot up the bed until your whole body is on it," he instructs heavily. Dean complies, using his elbows to push himself lengthwise onto the bed, understanding Castiel's unspoken instruction that he doesn't want him to lift up too much and cease the dig of the rope. It's like rug burn squared as he moves, and an exquisite pressure begins to build behind his eyes, making the sight of Castiel undressing waver. 

He's fully naked by the time Dean settles, save for his socks, which are a bit of a struggle. But he manages to use a toe to push them off as he crawls onto the bed over Dean. He's equally hard, which is a small surprise to Dean until Castiel reaches behind himself and carefully removes the plug he'd been wearing probably since they'd arrived in the room a few hours ago and Dean had gone to avail himself of the impressive water pressure in the shower for nearly half an hour.

Dean's mouth falls open, then snaps shut. No talking. He remembered.

The question is blessedly obvious, though, because Castiel answers it. "Yes, you're going to fuck me. I'm going to ride you fast and hard. You can come whenever you want, but if it's before me, I won't stop until I'm done, and I'm warning you now that I'm prepared to last this time. Are you willing to do that?"

Dean tilts his chin up in acquiescence. He _really_ hopes he comes first. He could use all the overstimulation he can get right about now. He thinks. They've never fucked past endurance. He's curious to know what it's like. 

Right now he's practically on cloud nine. His thighs are chafed raw. His dick is aching with need. His eyes are burning with unshed tears. His body is screaming for Castiel. All of it added together is almost too much hurt and not enough relief. The only way he stands it is because his Dom, his partner, his husband, knows how to do one thing for Dean, and that one thing is giving him happiness. That level of contentment he would never be able to achieve alone. It's beautiful as much as it's his everything.

There's also no pause to adjust once he's settled. As soon as Dean agrees, Castiel is astride him and impaling himself on Dean's cock without a second's hesitation. Dean chokes out a ragged shout that's the perfect harmony to Castiel's own loud moan. And before Dean can catch his breath, Castiel begins to roll his hips enough to build up a rhythm before balancing on his calves and fucks Dean for all he's worth. 

And Dean's never quite felt anything like it before. Castiel's tight heat sheathing his cock is the absolute pinnacle of pleasure. But every time that Castiel brings his weight down hard onto Dean's hips, he accents the movement with a rough grind that digs the frazzled ropes into both of them. It's sublimely painful. Castiel pants noisy, filthy moans, head thrown back as he rides Dean. Castiel hasn't restricted him, so Dean's hands fly to his Dom's hips, bracing him so that he can thrust up into him with wildly. He can't stop it. He's broken. Even if Castiel told him to hold still, he couldn't. Not at this point. Each shock of bliss is accentuated by a stab of pain, and Castiel rubs himself on the rope as well, the skin on his inner thighs reddening. Dean can't look away for anything.

Castiel knows that it's already too much. He _knows_. Dean can see it. The way that Castiel looks down at him, sweating and gorgeous and _smirking_. And it only takes a few more thrusts before Dean is shouting his release.

Afterwards, Castiel's promise holds. He keeps going.

Wow. Dean thought he'd been overstimulated before, but that was a fool's assumption. _Now_ he's overestimated. His brain is sated; waves of endorphins flooding him. But his body can't rest with his Dom so intent on torturing him. His already-raw skin is abraded even more. Castiel keeps clenching his internal muscles every time he rides Dean's dick up to keep him from going too soft. The arcs of electricity up his spine make him want to beg for mercy while also begging for more. The only order he has no trouble following at this point is the order to not speak. There's no way he can. He's offline. 

Something is building inside of him that feels an awful lot like another orgasm, but that seems impossible. He's going out of his mind with the force of it. 

Castiel comes with a high pitched curse, and it's the ignition sequence. Dean spasms so forcefully that his entire bank bucks off the mattress. He can't even breathe. After that, he's pretty sure he blacks out, though he only realizes it when he's coming to and lots of things aren't how he left them. 

First of all, he's got one of his ratty t-shirts on, though no bottoms. Second, he's moved, or been moved, to a proper position on the bed, head propped up with two pillows like he prefers. Third, the only light is from the dim table lamp. And lastly, Castiel is dressed in his own pajamas and applying some sort of cooling gel to Dean's rug burn. 

"Mph," is all Dean manages to mumble.

Fond blue eyes flick up to acknowledge him before looking down again to focus on the task at hand. "You've only been out for thirty minutes," Castiel says warmly. "How do you feel?"

Sore. His body is still throbbing. He's wrung out and had gotten so overwhelmed that his brain had needed a full reset. "Good," he says honestly.

"Was it what you needed?" Castiel asks, both voice and fingers suddenly hesitant.

Dean grins. "You're still the b-b-b-best sex I've ever had-d-d," he assures his husband.

"Good," Castiel answers, a pleased smile touching his lips. "Did I help?"

"M-m-more than you know," Dean sighs.

Castiel's smile grows just like Dean's. "That great because tomorrow we have to take on the world."

"Yeah," Dean says. "We can d-d-do that."

"I agree," Castiel says, finishes with the gel and gently tucks Dean into his boxers and pants. "We can do that."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Dean and Castiel meet with Lucifer. Dean gets his small revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter tags:**  
>  bottom Dean   
> top Castiel  
> normal sex

"You should d-d-dress down," Dean says, eyeing his husband from the full sized mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. 

Castiel pauses pulling his suit jacket on with a quizzical look. "Why?"

Arching an eyebrow, Dean answers pointedly, "you really wanna g-give Lucifer the satisfaction?"

Castiel smooths his hands down the front of his dress shirt agitatedly. "It's a uniform," he says with an air of petulance. "Armor."

Dean turns, smiling slightly. "You sound-d-d-d more nervous than me."

Castiel frowns. "You don't sound nervous at all. Why is that?"

Shaking his head, Dean says, "b-b-because he can't d-do anything to us, anymore." He holds his hands out, and Castiel comes to him willingly. Eagerly.

"What if he won't honor the deal after we've spoken to him?"

"He will," Dean says, trying not to sound dismissive. It never goes over well with Castiel. "If he d-doesn't sign that attestation, he won't even g-g-g-get a flash of ankle from me."

"Good." Castiel stands still, allowing Dean to remove his tie and suit jacket. "You'll stick to the plan?" Dean nods, unbuttoning Castiel's right shirt cuff and rolling the sleeves up his forearms. Helpfully, Castiel holds his arm up. "You won't set foot in the room until Agent Henriksen says so."

"And _you_ d-d-don't enter the room until Henriksen says so, either. Lucifer knows you, so he might have something planned-d-d for you, too."

"I understand," Castiel says solemnly. "I'll play by the rules. I can't have Lucifer getting anything that he _really_ wants. We stick to the script."

"No going off b-book," Dean agrees, finishing rolling the sleeves on Castiel's other arm.

Castiel snorts. "I won't if you won't."

"I can work with that," Dean grins.

They check each other over once more, and then it's time to get the show on the road. The sooner they leave, the sooner this nightmare ends. "Are you _sure_ I shouldn't wear a tie?" Castiel asks uncomfortably. 

In response, Dean flicks the top button of Castiel's dress shirt open. "You'd-d-d only b-be inspired to choke him with it."

Castiel laughs outright and swats Dean's hand away. "I only care to choke you, Dean." He winks.

Dean laughs, too, grateful for the lighthearted moment. There sure aren't going to be many of them in the days to come. Quickly, he kisses Castiel firm on the lips. "Let's go. Victor d-d-doesn't like losing his b-beauty sleep."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

It turns out that Dean was sort of right about Agent Henriksen. He's waiting outside of the prison's visitor's entrance, leaning up against his car. He approaches right as Castiel parks the rental car. Dean's still a bit slow about getting up and down, so Castiel is the one to greet Victor first. "Good to see you again," he says.

"Likewise," Victor answers, shaking his hand. "Thanks for coming all the way back down here."

"I would have even if I hadn't been subpoenaed," Castiel says wryly.

Victor grind and holds out his hand to Dean. "Agent Victor Henriksen. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Dean shakes the man's hand firmly. "Dean Winchester. Same."

Victor, in the way of cops, gives Dean an obviously assessing once over that he doesn't bother to be subtle about. "Not gonna lie, you look a lot better than I was expecting."

Dean takes no offense. Not like he hasn't thought the same damn thing before. "You're making me b-blush," he returns. 

"That's what they all say," Victor quips. He nods over his shoulder. "Just keep an eye out in there, all right? The higher the security level, the more the inmates enjoy a pretty face. Let's go."

Victor walks ahead, not knowing to, or not bothering to, modify his place to match Dean's. It gives him ample opportunity to breeze through the doors, and Dean murmur, "he's so much hotter in person."

Castiel shoots his husband a sour look, which he knows is pointless because it discourages the man exactly never. Usually it does the complete opposite. "Dean, please. We need to be professional."

Incredulously, Dean continues as expected. "You worked with him in close quarters, and-d-d never _once_ tried _anything_? For real?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I'm married to you, in case you've forgotten."

Dean holds up a hand as Castiel reaches for the door. "There are some things you can't b-b-be b-b-blamed for. Hitting on _that_ piece of ass? I'd've been proud of you!"

"I don't view infidelity as acceptably as you do," Castiel points out sharply.

But Dean just laughs easily. "We gotta talk ab-b-bout your freebie list some day." He claps Castiel on the shoulder firmly as they step up to the window to sign themselves in for guest passes. "Cas, we can b-b-be married for a hundred years, and you'd still be allowed to enjoy looking at God-d-d's creations. It's a perk of b-b-b-being human."

That eases the tension. Enough that Castiel gives into the swell of mischief easily. He pins his visitor badge to his chest, and blithely says, "I've never had two subs at once, but you and him would look lovely tied up together, I have to admit."

He goes to join Victor at the locked steel door and Dean hastens to catch up, fire in his eyes. "I'm cool with that," he says weightedly.

Castiel's expression remains neutral, and Victor, also being excellent at reading people, says, "pretty sure I don't wanna know."

"I would think not," Castiel answers and Dean snickers.

The officer at the steel inner entry door buzzes them in. Dean falls into step beside Victor as they make their way past the common rooms to the interrogation rooms beyond. He asks, "what's the over/und-d-der on Michael walking free after th-this?"

Victor shrugs, finally slowing his pace enough so that Dean doesn't have to exert himself too much. "Dunno. Your man, Cain, had a pretty convincing report to argue at least putting him on a psych hold pending review. And your personality profile is good. It should hold a hell of a lot of water."

"That's good enough for now," Dean says. 

"Damn right, it is," Victor says. They stop outside of a closed interrogation room door. There's a guard posted, and the warden himself is standing square in front of it, looking grumpy and put out. Victor pays the attitude no mind, striding straight up to the warden and holding out his hand. "Warden Turner."

The older man doesn't bother to shake. "You the kids here to piss in my cornflakes?"

Castiel is near to snapping in indignation, but Dean's first to the punch, and he merely says, "yeah. I'm D-D-Dean Winchester. This is Castiel Novak." He nods over his shoulder.

Warden Turner nods back at them. "Rufus Turner. I run the joint, and don't like it much when Henriksen throws his weight around."

Victor puts up a good-natured protest and Dean decides that he likes Rufus immediately for the show he puts on. "Yeah, yeah, you're the king of the castle," Victor says. 

"Damn right I am," Rufus agrees. "Now listen up, girls, because I ain't going over this twice. Lucifer is in there, and he's secured. The affidavit is also in there, per your Fed man's request. The deal is, Mr. Winchester and Mr. Novak don't go in there until it's signed." He points a stern finger. "Don't any of you screw this up for me. It's the best PR I've had in ages."

Castiel feels chastised even having done nothing wrong. Rufus Turner is excellent at his job. "Yes, sir," he says. Dean echoes the sentiment lightly as well while Victor just sighs.

"Good enough," Rufus says. He pulls the keys off of his belt and unlocks the door. Before opening it, he says, "remember. Look, but don't speak or touch. You're on, Henriksen." He pushes the door open.

It's like watching a slow motion wreck. Lucifer from his seat at the table in the center of the room, turns his head towards the door. Without so much as blinking, his vacant gaze finds Dean.

Dean can't help it. His breath catches in his throat. He can feel facial muscles pulling into some sort of expression he'd promised himself he wouldn't make, though he has no idea what it is. Fear burns hot in his belly. It's sudden and shocking and he can only hope it doesn't make him pale. 

Lucifer had already seen too much. Way too much. Dean wasn't ready. He'd misjudged himself. 

Thankfully, Victor isn't into wasting time. He fills the doorway alongside Rufus and says, "show's over." And the heavy metal door clangs shut behind them, making Dean jump. 

Castiel's hand is in his immediately. "Take a breath," he says calmly.

Dean sucks in a huge one, clearing the spots from his vision. It's going to be hard to pull himself together. 

"You don't have to do this," Castiel murmurs.

Dean gives him a sharp look. "The hell I d-d-don't. I'll b-b-be fine." To underline the words, he stalks to the adjoining observation room. He has to admit, it's easier to get accustomed to Lucifer when they're separated by an unbreakable one way mirror. He gives the guy his full attention. Castiel turns on the intercom so that they can hear. 

Victor hasn't made any headway straight off. "Gonna need you to sign this, like I said. You wanna talk to Dean and Castiel? This is the only way to do it. It's the deal you agreed to, and I've held up my end."

"You're probably no fun on vacation, are you?" Lucifer answers. "Schedule everything down to the second."

Victor snaps the folder shut. "You're wasting my time." He stands and the rattle of chains jangles Dean's nerves when Lucifer instinctively tries to follow. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, sport," he says with mock contrition. "I never said I wouldn't play ball."

Victor plants both palms on the table, leaning forward, closer than is wise to a criminal. "Yeah, but see, you're not." He shows his teeth. "I got all day. All night. All of forever, because right now, you're the only case on my desk. _That's_ how bad everyone, including Uncle Sam, wants to see you put away forever. But those guys?" He nods to the mirror. "They got shit to do that includes forgetting about you. They're not gonna wait around. So if you wanna have your little chat? I'd suggest getting a move on now because they've got a life to get back to that doesn't include your sorry ass."

"Fine, fine," Lucifer whines, stomping his feet briefly. It's quite the performance. "You're no fun, you know that? Feels like you know a lot more about me than I know about you. And since we're such _buddies_ now..."

"Sign the damn paper," Victor says evenly.

There's a staring contest for a full thirty seconds before Lucifer sighs dramatically and grabs the pen, signing with a flourish. 

Rufus watches from the corner, and when he's signed the paper as a witness, he gathers up the folder and gives the mirror a thumbs up. 

Castiel glances to Dean, noting his stiff posture and the muscle ticking in his jaw. "Are you ready?"

Dean tears his gaze away from the room. "Yeah," he says harshly. "Let's d-d-do this." He leads the way to the door and presses the buzzer. 

Rufus opens it a second later. He shows them both the affidavit. "His ass is mine now. Do whatever you want."

Something about that releases the tension in Dean, until he suddenly looks for all the world like he's not about to face the man who nearly succeeded in killing him. 

Castiel, walking in behind him, takes in every nuance of Dean and Lucifer's silent interaction. The closer they get, the more Dean seems to calm. Which makes sense since he can get a much closer read on the man, and must be seeing his bluster for what it is. Dean takes a seat and folds his hands on top of the table. 

Castiel sits beside him, hands in his lap. 

Silence suffuses the cold air. Dean is better at keeping it.

Lucifer's leg begins to jiggle. He glances between Dean and Castiel. Dean sits like a statue. Castiel raises an eyebrow.

Finally, Lucifer says, "you fellas are looking... good. Healthy. Whole. That's... kinda sorta... dunno..." he shrugs. "A bummer."

Dean finally moves. He shifts back in the chair with a shrug. He speaks slower than normal, and much more deliberately, which will likely go unnoticed by Lucifer seeing as how he's unfamiliar with Dean's normal speech patterns. But Dean risking his stutter is more ammo than Lucifer should be given, if it can be prevented. "Yeah, well, that'll happen when the guy who tries to take you out is shitty at stalking _and_ murder."

The cuffs rattle as Lucifer brings his clasped hands onto the table, fidgeting. It's impossible for him to keep still. Being secured by his wrists and ankles to the table and chair must be frustrating him to no end. "Can't win them all, I guess."

"You can't win any of them," Castiel cuts in. 

Lucifer holds up a finger. "But I did a little bit, didn't I?"

Dean spreads his arms. "Nope."

"Oh, come _on_ , man! You can't lie to me! I'm sitting right in front of you!"

Dean glances at Castiel. 

"Get to the point," Castiel says. 

Lucifer ignores Castiel, fully focused on Dean. "I took notice of you. You don't think I did, but it's true. Couldn't help it, really. Always the stalwart older brother. Always standing beside Sam with that famous scowl on your face."

Dean says nothing. 

Lucifer smiles with nothing to back it behind his eyes. "And yes, I know about..." he gestures between Castiel and Dean. "Which, hey! Whatever creams your twinkie."

Castiel's mouth twists like he just bit into something nasty. 

Lucifer notices it. His smile becomes more satisfied. "I thought to myself, 'wow, those Winchester boys sure do come from good stock and grab the better stock, y'know? Pretty striking, the both of you."

"You love hearing yourself talk," Castiel says tiredly.

"It's my show," Lucifer reminds him. 

Dean crosses his ankle over his knee. "It's pretty damn boring, too."

Victor covers his snort with a cough and a, "you got five more minutes."

"That's all I need," Lucifer assures him. "Five minutes breathing the same air as Dean Winchester is perfect. It's all I've wanted."

Dean scoffs. "You weren't after me," he enunciates, still carefully. "You still aren't. I can tell."

Lucifer purses his lips. "No, maybe not you, specifically. You're right. But you and Sam are family. Blood. Even if you haven't got the 'it' factor. But, I really was hoping to see you. They told me when you didn't die, you know? And I had a lot of time to think about that. And the more I thought about it, the happier I was. Did you know you're as beautiful as your brother? You really could'a been something like him." He grins at Dean's unwaveringly hard look. "Maybe a model? Well. Not _now_. Now you're rocking the whole _Phantom of the Opera_ look."

Dean rolls his eyes with his entire upper body getting into the motion as well.

It only makes Lucifer grin wider. "You were so pretty, Dean. But now you're broken."

Dean knows it'll only egg him on, but he still says, "no, I'm not."

Lucifer leans forward as far as he can, staring hard at Dean. "You gotta hand it to me, man. I did some good work on you. Banged you up nicely. I'm not sorry I did that. But, hey! Now Sam'll always think about me when he looks at you, so there's a win." His smile is as sharp as his teeth. "I'm always gonna be a part of your lives. Every line and scar that shows is from _me_. It's _mine_. _I_ did that to you - to all of you. Tell me, Dean-o. What kinda strain has this put on your happy marriage?"

Dean has lunged out of his chair and thrown himself across the table before either Castiel or Victor can react. He grabs a handful of Lucifer's hair right at the crown, and slams the man's head onto the metal table with a resounding crash.

And even once they do have a chance to react, Castiel only stands and Victor just moves directly behind Lucifer, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You can't do this!" Lucifer bites out, more honest emotion in his voice than he's shown the whole time.

Dean grinds Lucifer's cheek against the cold surface harder. "Why?" he demands, voice lower and more deliberate. "You think I've overstepped somehow?" He glances up dangerously at his husband and then Victor. "Have I?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Victor says mildly.

"I've neither seen nor heard anything out of place," Castiel adds.

In response, Dean presses his forearm down against the back of Lucifer's neck. "Listen up, Lucy. None of us lose sleep over you. None of us think about you. None of us are scared of you. My marriage is solid. You can go to jail for one year, or a hundred years and nothing will change. We stopped you. Your plan for Sam failed. You will always fail. And unlike me, you will d-d-definitely think about that failure every day."

There's a gentle hand on his shoulder and Dean draws back. His leg is starting to shake, ankle quaking in the prosthesis. But Castiel keeps up the pressure to steady him while making it look more businesslike than intimate.

Even Victor seems to sense the change because he follows directly behind Dean, blocking his limp from Lucifer as they exit the room.

"See you in court!" Lucifer yells.

"See you in Hell!" Dean fires back before the door closes.

"You did great," Castiel says grimly.

"Yeah," Dean agrees heavily. "Sorry ab-b-bout that."

"Am I missing something here?" Victor pipes in. "Because that in there looked like gold standard."

"It is as long as Lucifer stays in jail forever," Castiel says.

"Twenty-five to life for kidnapping, assault, stalking, and attempted murder ain't too shabby," Victor says. "We can negotiate for no chance of parole."

"I'm sure his new ob-b-bsession will keep him pretty warm at night," Dean says.

"What do you mean?" Victor asks.

Castiel pauses at the exit door to wait for the warden to buzz them out. "Dean gave Lucifer a lot to work with in there."

"How?" the FBI agent asks incredulously. "You both might as well have been carved from marble in there."

"I mad-de him angry," Dean explains.

"Yes," Castiel agrees. "Lucifer's biggest personality trait is his need for control. Or at least to fool himself into believing that he has it. When he loses it, it sets him off. In this case, to a new obsession. And that'll be Dean if he takes his word and thinks that he didn't do enough to ruin him." He glances at his husband. "And if your expression is any indication, Dean, I have the impression you think you've done some damage to his fantasy."

"Probably," Dean agrees. The door buzzes and they all pile back to freedom. "I shouldn't've lost my cool. I knew what he was d-d-doing, and I still g-g-gave him what he wanted."

"He gave us what we wanted too, though," Victor says shrewdly. He holds out his hand to shake. "You guys did great. See you tomorrow for sentencing. You both still okay for your witness statements?"

Castiel and Dean nod, shaking Victor's hand. "We'll be ready."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

The drive back to the hotel is quiet, though Castiel can see how loud Dean's thoughts are by the tight set of his jaw and his unwavering glare out the window.

The second they're back in private, Castiel hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and approaches his husband from behind. "Dean," he murmurs, pressing his chest to his back and wrapping his arms tightly around his chest.

Dean's only response is a huge sigh, then raising his right hand to lay over Castiel's on his sternum.

Castiel nuzzles into the short hairs on the back of Dean's neck. "I know you won't believe me, but I'm going to tell you truth, anyway. You did all the right things today."

Dean leans back against Castiel heavily, making him stumble back a couple steps. "I shouldn't have opened my b-big mouth."

"You like to do that at all the most inopportune moments," Castiel teases gently, feeling Dean start to soften against him. "Surely you didn't expect this one to be any different."

Dean huffs a laugh. "I make your life so much hard-d-der."

Castiel turns Dean gently, but firmly, in his arms. He gives his husband a strict look and puts their foreheads together. "Dean Winchester. I love you with everything in me. I always will."

Dean starts to smile.

"But you're right," he sighs dramatically, deflating. "You're very difficult."

This laugh is much louder. Dean shoves Castiel's shoulders, pushing him away and stomping over to where his foot charger is waiting. "Too b-b-bad you're stuck with me."

Kicking back on the bed, Castiel grins, "promise?"

Dean unlatches his foot and plugs it in, then hops to the bed, bouncing down on top of Castiel. "I d-d-did in front of God-d and country."

"I haven't forgotten," Castiel says with adoration, pulling Dean down for a kiss. Then he leans back. "Best decision I ever made."

Grinning, Dean grabs Castiel by the back of the neck, hauling him back down and rolling them over until Castiel is fully on top of him.

To ease off some of the pressure, Castiel plants his knees on either side of Dean's thighs, holding his own weight, but still touching as much as possible. Dean's fingers slip under his shirt, swiping up along his spine to the sensitive spot on his back, causing him to clench his legs. Dean gasp against his mouth.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asks, pressing kiss after kiss on his husband's lips.

"B-b-bruises," Dean groans. "Feels g-g-good."

Castiel lowers his hips, rubbing against Dean, pressing the denim against the rash left by last night's ropes. Dean bucks and writhes under him, as sensitive to the pleasurable pain as much as always. And despite not being in a scene, Dean remains pliant and open to Castiel's whim as he unhurriedly undresses them both, marking Dean's skin with his mouth and teeth everywhere he wanders; the thrill of Dean patiently allowing it making him almost dizzy with pleasure. 

The minutes flow by, unimportant but for both of their need for more slowly ratcheting up. 

Castiel only stops his worship to retrieve the condoms and lube from his suitcase. Then he crawls back onto the bed, gaze sweeping over his husband. As ever, he's beautiful like this; flushed, hard, smiling lazily, and spread wide. The sight makes Castiel hesitate. "You don't believe him, do you?" he asks quietly. 

"Who?" Dean asks, thoroughly addled by lust.

"Lucifer," Castiel clarifies, crawling closer. "That he's what I think about when I look at you."

Dean's sweat-sheened brow furrows. "Well, you are _now_ ," he retorts, mostly irritated about having his pleasure thwarted.

"I'm just saying," Castiel assures him, words slightly jarring because while he talks he slips a condom on and resumes opening Dean with his lubed fingers. "I don't. I never do. I've only ever seen _you_. Thought about you. There's no pity or disgust."

"You've told-d-d-d me that," Dean mutters, hips arching. "I trust th-th-that."

"Good," Castiel breathes, gripping the base of his cock and positioning himself between Dean's legs. "All it's ever been is you and me."

In response, Dean loops his strong legs around Castiel's thighs, drawing him in.

Castiel takes the hint, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, both he and Dean release their pent up breaths with the tension held from a long buildup. Dean reaches up, and Castiel leans down, loving the way that Dean's calloused fingers slide along his shoulders to latch him close as they move together with indulgently slow thrusts.

Castiel grasps Dean's thighs, rubbing against the rope rashes and making Dean cry out breathily. "I don't care where any of your scars come from," Castiel says roughly. He takes Dean's aching cock in hand, pumping it in his first in time to his movements. "Your body is my gorgeous canvas, and I'll always paint it perfectly for us both."

" _Yes_!" Dean moans, coming in hot spurts over Castiel's fist. His internal muscles clamp down, forcing out Castiel's own powerful orgasm.

They tangle together, holding each other firmly through the aftershocks. Castiel only moves his hips to withdraw from Dean and toss the used condom into the wastebasket. Then they're pressed together again, trading kisses. Touching warm, damp skin.

Dean crosses his eyes a little to see Castiel semi-better. "There's never b-b-b-been a ghost b-b-between us," he murmurs. "Won't ever be."

Smiling tenderly, Castiel says, "never."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Castiel deliberately controls the morning routine after noticing that Dean's relaxation hadn't lasted beyond their eight hours of sleep.

He orders a filling breakfast with all the nitrates that Dean always craves but rarely eats anymore thanks to the demands on his body after the accident. Thus having distracted his husband with bacon, Castiel picks out Dean's trial suit. It's one he's only worn a couple of times in the past, claiming he hates it.

It's flattering and tailored well, but the jacket collar often chaffs the back of Dean's neck. Castiel had brought it with them specifically because Dean despises it, and Castiel is fully willing to have the damn thing burned after the trial with the rest of the bad memories. He knows that Dean puts up a fine front, but objects have meaning to him, and he'll remember today every time he sees the suit in the closet. He can get past the awful memories of course, but there's no real need for a reminder. Dean will appreciate the thought. And another ritual burning of something he doesn't like.

After breakfast, Castiel leads Dean by the hand to the bathroom, stepping into the shower with him. Dean doesn't protest, though he does give Castiel a pointed look. It's loud and clear that there's a limit to the coddling. But a gentle, yet thorough makeout session followed by a soapy massage with a happy ending mellows him out. Plus, he's always liked it when Castiel dresses him with military precision, letting Dean return the favor.

They finish just in time to meet Cain, the judge, Victor, and their team of lawyers before the hearing at the courthouse.

"I'm fucking nervous," Dean mutters, frowning.

"Me, too," Castiel admits, straightening Dean's tie. "I'm glad we're doing this together."

"Yeah." Dean shrugs. "Plus, Sam says Tyson Br-Br-Brady is the b-b-best lawyer he's ever known."

"I didn't see much of him at Stanford, but I think Sam's right. Brady graduated at the top of his class. Everything's in order."

Dean nods. "Let's get this show on the road."

"I love you, Dean," Castiel says seriously.

"I love you, too," Dean answers. He sucks in a breath. Releases it measuredly. "Okay. I'm read-d-dy."

Castiel pockets his keys and wallet, ready to start the first day of the rest of their lives.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer receives his sentence.

Dean and Castiel enter the courthouse and clear security, glancing around to figure out where to go. What they see is a small group of people who look even more severe than they do. The youngest of them notices their approach and breaks away to greet them.

"Novak!" he calls in a confident, booming voice. He bypasses the handshake to go straight in for a hug. "Good to see you again, man!"

Castiel _oofs_ and belatedly returns the overly friendly embrace. "You too, Brady. Thanks for coming all the way across the country for this."

"Whatever," Brady brushes off, smacking Castiel on the back. "I'd do anything for Sam. Plus, this case will do a _lot_ for my career. I'll owe him a million favors after this for pulling all those strings."

"He hardly had to," Castiel counters, with a strange twist to his lips that only Dean seems to notice. "You've made quite a name for yourself."

Brady laughs loudly. "It's a dog eat dog world." He turns his tooth whitening commercial smile on Dean, thrusting his hand out. "Tyson Brady."

"Dean Winchester," Dean answers curiously, shaking his hand firmly.

"Glad to have you here. I really appreciate that you're going to give a live testimony as well. The human element goes over really well in cases like these."

"Yeah," Dean answers, studying Brady surreptitiously. "Happy to help."

Brady beams encouragingly and then glances over his shoulder. "I gotta finish up with Judge Tapping and the rest of these yahoos, but we're in room Five A. Hang out in there and I'll be right with you. There's coffee and snacks and stuff."

"Thank you," Castiel says with his formal lilt that piques Dean's interest further. 

But he says nothing until they're safely ensconced in the meeting room. He pours them both a cup of surprisingly good coffee and brings them over to the conference table. "So, what's the story on B-B-Brady? You seem kinda weird-d-d around him."

Castiel accepts the coffee and tilts his head from side to side in a noncommittal gesture. "He wasn't a friend of mine, but from what I understand, he and Sam were close. I couldn't ever figure out why."

"He d-d-does have a... vib-b-be," Dean agrees, which is amusing considering he's a profiler who digs to the bottom of "vibes" to find the truth behind them. "Sam's never really mentioned him b-b-before. Any reason why?"

Castiel _hmm's_ thoughtfully. "I don't have the whole story, but for a while they were closer friends than Sam and I became. They met before I was the. This was back when Sam was dating Jessica Moore."

Dean's eyes widen in sudden recognition. "I remember her! Sam was pretty cut up when she d-d-d-dumped him."

Castiel leans his forearms on the table. "I always thought their breakup was suspicious," he admits softly, like they might be overheard. 

"Lemme guess," Dean supplies wryly, "Brad-d-dy was all chummy and refused to choose sides for about a minute."

Castiel taps his nose in assent. "In fact, Jessica Moore almost became Jessica Brady a few years ago. I'm not sure what happened there, and frankly I don't care for the gossip or the drama. Suffice it to say, Sam and Tyson's relationship never recovered, and then he met me. Of course, their relationship was already strained when I came into the picture. That's why I never knew Tyson very well."

"All this over a girl?" Dean muses doubtfully. "Even b-back then, it doesn't sound like Sam."

Castiel shrugs. "There's more to it. They both ended up in the same internship at a prestigious law firm. They worked closely together on a few cases, and Sam often said that he disapproved of Tyson's strategies. Again, I don't have the details, but it helped him lose faith in the genuineness of their friendship."

Dean sips his coffee thoughtfully. "Okay, so why tap B-B-Brady _now_? This case is important. Why would Sam wanna bring in someone he d-d-doesn't trust?"

"Because he's good at what he does, and he's the best lawyer any of us know," Castiel says simply. "His methods might be suspect, but his results are clear. With Tyson Brady, there's no chance of Lucifer walking free. Honestly? Sam wouldn't trust him enough to open a law practice with Brady, but he _would_ trust him to close a case in his favor."

"Fair enough," Dean says with mild trepidation. "That explains why the guy acted like rainb-b-bows fart outta Sam's ass. This could shoot his career into the stratosphere."

"It likely will," Castiel agrees. "He's probably been waiting for a break like this for years."

Dean nods. "That means he'll toe the line and b-b-b-be less likely to pull anything unsavory. Smart move on Sam's part."

"Yes," Castiel says. "We can hope."

There's a knock on the door and it opens before either Castiel or Dean can answer. Tyson Brady is the first one in, followed by Victor, Cain, and Lisa. Castiel and Dean stand to greet them while Brady goes immediately to the back table for coffee and a cranberry muffin. 

Neither Cain nor Lisa stand on ceremony. They both dish out enthusiastic greetings and warm hugs to the both of them. Lisa squeezes Dean's arms and tells him how much his walking has improved, then moves to kiss Castiel affectionately on both cheeks. "You guys look like you're doing so much better!" She nudges Cain with her elbow while he's busy bear hugging Dean, and says slyly, "no small part played by this guy, I'm sure. He's amazing!"

Castiel's face eases into a teasing smile, and asks for her ears only, "is this a professional budding crush, or a personal one?"

Lisa has the good grace to blush slightly, though not enough good manners to prevent her from knuckling Castiel's shoulder hard. "Both, you ass," she whispers back.

Done with Dean, Cain turns to Castiel and shakes his hand with both of his. "Dean says I can buy you both a victory steak dinner after everything's said and done here," he says warmly.

"I'd be happy to accept," Castiel returns just as pleased. "Thank you for coming, Cain."

"Wouldn't miss it. I secretly love testifying at trials."

Castiel chuckles. "I believe it."

Brady takes his seat at the head of the table and calls them to order. "Thank you all for being here promptly and doing all your homework. After reviewing your statements and everything, we've got an airtight argument to keep Lucifer Pellegrino in jail for a long damn time. Judge Tapping is also the best case scenario here. She's tough, but she's excellent at getting the right people in jail and keeping them there. Her big career goal is to eliminate excessive and wrongful sentencing, at least in her jurisdiction down here."

"Sure _that_ goes over well here in the deep south," Dean mutters sarcastically.

Brady shrugs. "She's done well here in Atlanta," he says. "It's a fairly liberal city. Regardless, we're going to get a positive outcome."

"So, what's our goal here?" Cain asks shrewdly. 

Brady tips his shoulder up. "To make Lucifer out to be as dangerous as possible so that Tapping is compelled to lay down the max sentence without chance of parole."

"Which sounds like an uphill battle, considering what you said she's like with sentencing," Victor says.

"She's not unfair," Brady reminds them. "If he deserves a life sentence, we can convince her to give it to him since he's already signed a plea deal. Are we at least all on the same page about that?" Everyone nods. "Great! So let's get acquainted."

"We already know each other," Castiel glances around the table.

Dean snorts a laugh into his coffee mug.

"Our roles in the hearing," Brady clarifies. "Cain and Lisa are here as expert witnesses. Cain will speak to Lucifer's mental state, seeing as how he's spent a lot of time interviewing him, and Lisa will be the one to highlight Dean's injuries. Victor, of course, has all the juicy details on the arrest. Dean and Cas, you're the clincher with your personal victim accounts."

Dean scowls at how excited Brady is acting, but lets it slide in favor of keeping the peace. He reminds himself they're all on the same team here. And Sam wouldn't vouch for a _total_ wad. 

"What's the order of testimony, then?" Castiel asks. 

Brady beams at him. "Cain, Lisa, Cas, Dean. Victor's already done his part in chambers, and he'll be sitting in on the rest. Remember that Lucifer won't be in the room for any of this, so don't hold anything back." He gives Dean a look that suggests he knows that Dean played tough in his meeting. "He'll only be present for the final sentencing, so you won't have to interact with him at all. Everyone capice?"

"Yes, we capice," Castiel answers solemnly. 

"Awesome." Brady glances down at his cell phone. "All right, it's go time. They'll be calling us up in a second. I'll be with you guys every step of the way, so no worries!"

His enthusiasm is a bit grating, but Dean never really liked lawyers, anyway. Thankful he's never had much contact with them outside of Sam's graduation, and that had been plenty. He contemplates that as they finish their coffee and snacks right as there's a knock on the door, and a court officer is there to take Cain to the courtroom.

He winks at them. "Off I go to glory."

Even Castiel smiles. "Good luck."

Once he and Brady are gone, Lisa sits down right next to Castiel and Dean. "So!" she chirps brightly. "You both are looking more fabulous than I've ever seen."

"You're fishing," Dean quips with humor.

"Duh," Lisa says, looping her arm through Dean's and scooting her chair over to lean on his shoulder. "You both are my favorites, so I wanted to make sure everything was copacetic now."

"We're not a living romance novel for you," Dean laughs.

"Sure, you are!" Lisa disagrees. "You guys have the _best_ love story!" She sobers a little. "Plus, you both took some hard knocks for you marriage. When I left, you weren't in the best place."

That's a really tactful way of putting it, so Castiel relents. "We were," he agrees. "And then we decided that we didn't want to live that way."

Lisa grins at that and for her benefit, Dean adds, "we literally b-b-burned the divorce papers and mad-d-de s'mores in the flames."

Laughing delightedly, Lisa says sincerely, "that's great, you guys."

Dean smirks. "So, you gonna tell us ab-b-bout your crush on Cain, or d-d-do we hafta ask him?"

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

The hours drag by like cold molasses. They alternate chatting, playing mind numbing games on their cell phones, and drinking all of the coffee in the room.

Then finally after a recess for lunch that Brady buys for all of them, it's Castiel's turn to give his statement. He doesn't stand on propriety, kissing Dean full on the mouth in front of everyone before following Brady to the courtroom.

There's a table dead center on the floor in front of the gallery, spread with papers and notes. Brady might be extremely good at his job, but he's quite messy when left to his own. They take their seats side by side and wait briefly. The court stenographer enters from a side door first, and then the guard announces Judge Taping. 

The woman cuts an impressive figure entering the courtroom to take a seat behind her bench. She glances up, either unimpressed with the proceedings or just very good at being unreadable as she says, "Mr. Brady has called Castiel Novak to the stand. Please speak into the microphone and state your full name."

"Castiel James Novak," he says clearly into the small microphone. 

"Thank you. Mr. Novak, can you please tell me why you were brought here today?"

"Yes," he responds. "Mr. Brady subpoenaed me to give a witness statement for the prosecution regarding my involvement in the case against Lucifer Pellegrino."

"Very well. And have you answered this summons in good faith?"

"I have, Your Honor."

"And do you swear upon threat of perjury that the statement you are about to give is both true and accurate, to the best of your knowledge?"

"I do."

She nods. "Counselor, you may proceed."

Brady stands, buttons his suit jacket, and places himself just far enough to the side of the table's front so as not to block the judge's view of Castiel.

"Mr. Novak," he begins in a professionally curious tone. "Your sworn witness statement taken by Agent Henriksen of the FBI, at the Atlanta police headquarters has been signed and entered into evidence for sentencing. Both Judge Tapping and I have familiarized ourselves with it. However, in the interest of accuracy, we would like to hear, in your own spoken words, the events of the night of Lucifer's alleged attempted assault of Sam Winchester, and his alleged attempted murder of Dean Winchester. Do you remember that night?"

"Yes," Castiel answers, fisting his sweating hands into his slacks. 

"Could you please run us through the events of that night to the best of your ability?"

Castiel takes a sip of water from the glass provided, swallows, and takes a deep breath. Then he begins to speak.

He doesn't tell his version of that horrible night from the perspective of a husband. He tells it like a cop. Like a bodyguard. He spares none of the details and all of his emotions. It doesn't take very long, but still, when he's finished, his throat is dry and he feels wrung out. However, Naomi appears pleased with his statement, and Brady is giving him an encouraging look.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" Brady asks at the end.

Castiel pauses. Considers. "No," he says after a moment. "That's everything that I remember."

Brady nods and turns to Naomi. "Your Honor?"

Naomi asks several follow up and clarification questions, though none appear to be testing the veracity of Castiel's statement. 

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Novak. You're dismissed. Mr. Brady, you may call in your last witness."

In the end, Castiel feels less the worse for wear than expected. Brady gives him a firm pat on the shoulder and says, "she liked you getting straight to the point. Nice work." The court guard leads Castiel back to the waiting room. 

Dean stands. He approaches. Castiel kisses him briefly and squeezes his hands. "You'll be fine," he says. "Judge Tapping was easy to deal with."

"That's a relief," Dean answers, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. "See you on the flip side?"

Castiel traces a finger across the sharp line of Dean's jaw. "I'll be here."

For all his rush and bluster, Brady follows along easily with Dean at the sedate pace that he requires on his prosthesis. "You're the star witness," he says conversationally. "I meant it when I said not to hold anything back. Your testimony is the most important."

"There's a reason Sam's th-the actor," Dean mutters.

Brady grins. "I'm not asking for a huge performance. Just... feel free to use a lot of adjectives."

Despite the weird vibes Tyson gives off, Dean finds himself amused by the suggestion. "Sure," he says.

The court guard once again opens the courtroom doors, and Dean takes his seat, studying Judge Tapping as much as he can in the short time he's permitted to get a quick read on her. Severe, organized, definitely not one to put up with any bullshit.

She doesn't waste a second once they're ready. "Mr. Brady has called Dean Winchester to the stand. Please speak into the microphone and state your full name."

"Dean Michael Winchester," Dean answers slowly.

"Do you swear upon threat of perjury that the statement you are about to give is both true and accurate, to the best of your knowledge?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Proceed, Counselor."

Brady immediately turns to Dean with a flawlessly rehearsed sympathetic look. "Thank you for being here today, Dean. I understand how difficult it must be to face this again, especially during your recovery."

It takes a monumental effort for Dean to resist physically reacting with an eye roll or derisive snort. He's never been good on the stand for this very reason. He sucks at playing in the circus. But he'll do it if it means Lucifer never breathes free air again.

Brady continues, "your written witness statement that you provided us with during your extended hospitalization was very thorough. However, we will need you to relive those terrible events again today. Please take your time and tell us everything that you remember."

Dean clears his throat. "Sure," he says evenly. Slowly. "It was during the _Fairy Tales_ convention over at the Westin. We made our best effort to secure Sam against any threat. Debriefed with Atlanta PD on site, convention security, hotel security. Lucifer slipped through the cracks."

He keeps his eyes on Brady while he wanders back and forth across the table. When Dean pauses for a breath, the lawyers stops walking, faces Dean completely and twirls his finger in front of his chest with a pointed look where the judge can't see the motion. 

Dean sighs. It's a clear sign that he's to milk this shit even more. Stop trying to hide his stutter. Jesus. This is is _exactly_ why he hates lawyers. But he'll play ball because the alternative is unthinkable. 

"We d-d-didn't realize that Lucifer was there until Sam's panel," Dean says at normal cadence now. Brady looks at him like the proudest father in the room, and Dean turns his attention to Naomi since the guy's starting to make his fucking teeth itch. "We'd had-d-d everyone on lookout. Lucifer jumped up from his seat in the audience. He had a gun. Pointed it right at Sam. My partner, Castiel, g-got Sam outta there, and I stood-d-d to confront Lucifer. Chased him through the employee halls to the parking lot. On the way, Lucifer d-d-discharged his firearm. Wing-g-ged me." He rubs his thigh at the remembered pain from the injury. "After that... Lucifer opened the outsid-d-de d-door. I saw the sun... and, I d-d-don't remember anything after that. Not being hit by his car. Not anything until I woke up a d-d-d-day later at Grad-d-y."

Naomi asks, "so you are positive that it was Lucifer Pellegrino who hit you with his car?"

"Yes," Dean says firmly. "APD tracked the car onto the highway. Stopped it and arrested Lucifer. My bl-bl-blood was recovered from the hood. Hotel surveillance cameras also caught the whole thing-g-g-g."

"And how long has your recovery been?"

Dean shrugs. "Technically, I'm still in recovery. I haven't b-b-been ab-ble to fully resume my work. B-b-b-but I'm mostly healed physically."

Naomi makes several notes and then looks down at Dean directly. She folds her hands on top of her podium. "Mr. Winchester, your file says that you've received commendations from the FBI and the Austin police for your profiling expertise. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Dean answers.

"Your profile of Lucifer Pellegrino was included in Mr. Brady's files. Do you still believe it to be accurate?"

"Yes, I d-d-do."

"Even after speaking with him face to face?"

Ah. So that's what she's getting at. "It _is_ always b-b-b-better to work a profile after meeting the suspect, b-b-but, as you know, that's rarely practical. I was often required to profile criminals in order to id-d-dentify them in the first place. After meeting him, I'm more confident of my full profile than ever."

"In that case, what is your professional opinion on Lucifer Pellegrino's sentence?"

"Your Honor, this ain't a revenge plot. I've b-b-b-been a cop my entire ad-d-dult life. I knew the risks going into protecting my br-br-brother." He gestures to himself. "This? It's a calculated risk of my profession. It could-d-d'a been anyone. Lucifer just got luckiest. He's d-d-dangerous, b-b-but he's not insane. In my opinion, he d-d-deserves a full sentence without parole. It's the only way he won't hurt anyone else."

Naomi considers him. She says nothing, and Dean's got to hand it to her. She really has a perfectly constructed poker face. The only thing that he can read from her is that she's taking him seriously. After a time, she simply says, "thank you for your time, Mr. Winchester. Counselor?"

"I'm satisfied, Your Honor."

"Good. I'll consider all the evidence and announce my sentencing verdict tomorrow at eight. Be on time."

"Yes, Your Honor," Brady says. Dean stands as the judge does, and then waits for Brady to gather his belongings. 

On the way out, Brady claps Dean on the shoulder with a smarmy grin and murmurs, "smooth as butter. Well done, Winchester."

Dean scowls but holds his tongue. 

Brady debriefs them all after the hearing and is nothing if not in wonderful spirits; assuring them all that they'd get the desired outcome. He goes out of his way to bathe Dean especially in syrupy praise as if he'd given an Academy Award-winning performance. Jackass.

However, none of them can deny that the lawyer's held up his end so far. He's done incredible work.

Still, Dean's uneasy in the aftermath. Once back at the hotel, he turns his cell phone back on and then gestures to Castiel for some privacy. Castiel pauses in undoing his tie, eyebrow tipping up, though he nods silently and stays in the living room as Dean bumps the bedroom door shut behind himself.

Sam picks up the phone on the third ring. "Hey, Dean!" he says cheerfully. "How's the hearing going?"

"Pretty good," Dean says, yanking off his own tie and sitting heavily on the bed, facing the wall. He puts the phone on speaker and tosses it beside him so that he can undress. "B-b-but I gotta tell ya, man, I d-d-dunno ab-b-bout Tyson."

"Yeah," Sam says on half a sigh. "He's really... yeah. Something."

"Why'd you push for him?"

"Because, despite everything, he's an awesome prosecutor. And he's licensed out there."

"Cas told me what he knew," he informs his brother without preamble.

"I figured he would. Look, Dean, I never really brought it up because... I dunno. Brady and I had our disagreements, sure. He's not really my friend anymore, either. Hell, I can't even call him a good guy, but he's gonna win this for us. I can promise you that. Lucifer is the worst kind of guy, and I wanna see him suffer big time."

Dean huffs. "Sam--"

"--Please, Dean."

Staring down at his lap, sick at his brother's stern tone, he says, "what?"

Voice sounding tight and thicker, Sam says, "I hate him. I hate everything about Lucifer. He... Dean, he killed you, and sometimes I think you're really fucking lucky to not remember the worst of it. But me and Cas? We'll never be able to forget it. I..." the clearing of his throat crackles over the line. "I mourned with Cas for days. It was just him and me, and it was the worst thing ever. I mean, I can't imagine what it would have been like if I'd had to deal with it alone."

Deans senses that Sam wants him to say something. He takes a small breath, and says quietly, "Cas has sorta forgiven him. He's... prayed-d-d a lot ab-bout it. Made his peace with it."

"I haven't," Sam counters severely. "I don't even _want _to. You're gonna say you were just doing your job and this was all part of it, but I don't give a shit. Lucifer hurt you because of me, and I can't fucking stand that. If I have to make a deal with the devil so I can live with myself? I'll do it. Hell, I _did_ it. You're not the only one who can protect this family."__

__Dean doesn't know exactly what to say about that. He understands on some level that he should reason with Sam. Convince him not to take an inch of blame. But he can't because he's really fucking proud of his little brother. So after a long pause he says, "you d-d-did the right thing."_ _

__He can hear Sam's smile. "Thanks."_ _

__"Yeah," he deflects. "It's been a long d-d-day. I need-d-d my four hours."_ _

__Laughing, Sam relents. "'Night."_ _

__Dean hangs up, and turns to toss his dress shirt towards his suitcase, freezing when he sees Castiel half-dressed, looking both troubled and guilty._ _

__"You didn't shut the door all the way. I came to close it, but then I eavesdropped instead."_ _

__"Uh, huh," Dean answers wryly._ _

__Slowly, Castiel approaches the bed. He stands over his husband. Reaches out and strokes his fingers down the scarred side of Dean's face. "You give me too much credit," he murmurs._ _

__"The hell I d-d-do," Dean scoffs._ _

__Shaking his head, Castiel admits, "I _did_ pray a lot about it, and though I made my peace with you, I didn't forgive him. I hope Lucifer burns in Hell. I wish he'd had a jury trial so that they could have sought the death penalty."_ _

__Dean's eyes widen. "You d-d-don't support the d-d-death penalty."_ _

__Castiel shuts his eyes briefly. "No. I don't wish that. But I wish... I _hope_ he gets a full life sentence."_ _

__Dean slides his hands up Castiel's bare arms to cover his hands. "He will. Come to b-b-bed."_ _

__Castiel complies immediately, stripping the rest of his clothes, Dean doing the same. He doesn't make his husband get up, instead removing his foot for him and hooking it into the charger. They curl together nude, hands strictly roaming for comforting touches. It's relaxing, but neither of them can quiet their minds enough to fall asleep._ _

__Several silent minutes pass. Castiel rolls over, pressing his back firmly against Dean's chest, slipping naturally into his embrace. He closes his eyes as Dean presses a small kiss against the back of his head and then begins to hum softly. The tune is familiar, but he can't place it until the half-whispered lyrics of "Simple Man" slip from Dean's lips lazily._ _

__It's not a traditional lullaby, and that makes Castiel smile. Relax further. He's asleep before the final chorus._ _

____

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

They arrive back at the courthouse with a half an hour to spare the following morning. Dean can't explain the tension, but it's there. _This is a win_ , he reminds himself. It's their victory lap.

But the grim mood won't be shaken. It follows him through two cups of coffee, final words of encouragement from Brady, and the group walk to the courtroom. 

There are chairs enough for all of them behind the table.

A minute later, two police officers appear with Lucifer cuffed between them. He tries to stare them all down, but only Brady bothers to even glance at him.

Thankfully, Naomi doesn't leave them waiting for long. At five minutes after the hour, the back door opens and the court guard enters. "All rise," he says. They all stand and Naomi enters, approaching her bench. "The Honorable Judge Naomi Tapping presiding."

She nods to them all. "Be seated."

There's the scraping of chairs, and then Naomi studies them all. "As all of you are aware, this case has been quite a challenge for me and for the court system here in Atlanta. If it were any other trial, it would be fairly open and shut. There's plenty of evidence, damning testimony, and the accused himself has entered a guilty plea. However, a case involving Sam Winchester brings with it a level of nuance that I also must consider."

Brady leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Over the past several years, this city has opened its arms to the movie and television industry, though it is still in its infancy compared to other areas. However, we've made a name for ourselves, and have rarely had significant trouble with the stars who pass through to film or attend conventions."

The only other sound is from the cuffs jangling when Lucifer begins to fidget.

"Therefore, this case, like it or not, will set a precedent. It will also send a message to the entertainment industry on how well, or how poorly, Atlanta deals with serious crimes carried out against the famous people who come to work here." She looks straight at Lucifer. "The accused will please stand."

Slowly, Lucifer rises to his feet, the guards with him.

Not mincing words, she gets directly to it. "Lucifer Pellegrino, the crimes you have committed are indeed reprehensible. Furthermore, you've shown no remorse for them. I have found you to be mentally sound; your actions carried out with full knowledge of the cause and consequence. Allowing your brother to take the fall for your former crimes is proof that you do not regret them or care to be redeemed. You have plead guilty to felony stalking, kidnapping, assault, evading arrest, and attempted murder. The maximum sentence for these crimes is seventy years imprisonment without the possibility of parole, which I am granting."

There's only a moment of true elation considering Naomi's next words are, "in accordance with the plea bargain you signed, your brother, Michael Pellegrino, will be released with time served and no mandatory psych hold. However, he will be required to meet with a court-appointed psychologist for six months as a condition of his parole. That is all. This court is adjourned." 

Her gavel slams against the podium, the sound dropping in Dean's stomach. His eyes fly to Castiel, who looks just as gobsmacked as everyone else... with the notable exception of Tyson Brady.

Suddenly, Dean's distrust makes perfect sense. Tyson Brady really is a goddamn snake. Anything to win the case. Anything to further his career. Michael Pellegrino hasn't done anything as serious as his brother, but it's only a matter of time. _Everyone_ familiar with the case knows that. Brady _knows_ that. He simply didn't care.

A restraining hand on his arm is the only thing that stops Dean from making a scene. He glances over and Castiel shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He leans close and whispers fiercely to his husband, "later. We can't do this now." His icy glare slides briefly to Brady and then back to Dean again. "We will fix this. I promise."

Dean nods. It's all he can do. For now.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** The family deals with the fallout from the trial. Castiel deals with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I ran out of steam to really edit this chapter.
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  fingering  
> vibrators  
> coming untouched  
> flogging  
> impact play  
> blowjobs

Thank God Sam let them take half of the acreage in the backyard to build a shooting range, because there is currently nothing in the whole goddamn world that can cure Dean's anger, even just slightly, except for unloading magazine after magazine into paper targets that he imagines having Tyson Fucking Brady's face on them.

At least it's making his aim better. The first target is still as shaky as his previous attempts, but the frustration makes him more focused, so that the second and third hit much closer to where they should; holes clustered right through the target's black heart. It feels pretty damn good after a while.

Once he's out of ammo, he pushes his ear protection around his neck, and then presses the buttons on every stall to bring the targets to him.

"You're improving," Castiel says from the doorway.

"Anger is a g-g-g-good m-m-m-motivator," Dean says.

Frowning, Castiel comes closer, perusing the targets one by one, though his overly casual meandering speaks quite loudly of a different intention.

Dean lets him have it, since there's no stopping him anyway. "I th-th-think we should-d-d hire Jack full t-t-time. If you're cool with it, I wanna t-t-t-talk to Sam ab-b-bout it."

Castiel turns on his heel, eyebrows up. "Yes, I... that's an excellent idea. I'd be more than happy to go with you to discuss a job offer with Sam."

Dean nods, removing the empty clip from his sidearm. "Good."

He turns towards the weapons locker, but Castiel stalls him with a gentle touch. "I can _hear_ your stress levels, you know. It's been a week."

In his current state of mind, Dean appreciates Castiel being tactful about it. There's no hiding his emotional state anymore. Then again, it's not like he has any interest in keeping any part of himself locked away from his husband. Not anymore. Not after personally experiencing the tenacity of Castiel's love.

Dean eases himself onto the table, feet lightly brushing the floor. "Y'know, th-th-there was a t-t-time when I th-th-thought th-there was no one in the world who would b-b-be ab-b-ble to hand-d-dle all of me. Th-th-that it'd b-b-be a mistake to let someone g-g-get that close."

Castiel smiles tenderly as he steps between Dean's knees. He says nothing.

With both hands, Dean strokes through Castiel's unruly hair. "Especially aft-t-t-ter what happened t-t-t-to me." Gently he tugs on the back of Castiel's hair to bring his head up. "B-b-b-but, _you_?" He doesn't bother to elaborate.

Castiel allows himself to be dragged up for a long, slow, filthy, deep kiss. When they draw apart, Castiel says breathlessly, "I couldn't demand perfection in someone else when I didn't expect it of myself."

"D-d-don't sell yourself short."

Castiel kisses him again and again. "I'm not. I just love you that much. It's not difficult, Dean. I need you to believe that."

Dean returns the kiss, nipping at his husband's bottom lip. "I d-d-do, 'cause I f-f-feel the same."

Unfortunately, while they'd both be perfectly happy to continue making out for the rest of the evening, Castiel did come to find Dean for a reason. "I fully appreciate you trying to distract me, but there's work to do."

Dean slumps forward, nose to Castiel's neck. "Th-there was supposed to b-b-be a light at the end-d of the tunnel."

"There is," Castiel assures him with quite fierceness. "A setback doesn't negate the wins. Our victory was _huge_. Maybe we're not done fighting yet, but we're also not out of options." He steps back and Dean slides off the table. One quick kiss later, and they're on their way back up to the house. 

As always, Dean hates seeing the formal dining room turned into a war room. Even more, seeing his brother in the middle of it all. But Sam had decided that there was no way in hell he was staying out of his own protection anymore. Especially after Lucifer had proved to be a threat even from behind bars. Of course, a life sentence has given him little to do besides manipulate his brother further. And Michael, being influenced his whole life and fueled by anger at his guardian's incarceration, had picked up the mantle impressively. The emails had begun less than a day after Lucifer's extremely public sentencing, and mailed letters had started showing up at house, no the P.O. box, not long after.

Castiel had needed absolutely no convincing whatsoever to call in some backup. Cain, Jody, and Bobby had been thrilled to answer the call.

They all look up at Dean and Castiel when they enter the room, expressions grim.

"B-b-bad news, I g-g-guess?" Dean asks grimly.

Bobby sighs noisily. "I gotta lot of fish I could hook, but none of them are biting right now."

"Too low profile," Sam adds.

"How?" Dean demands, scowling. "You're Sam Fucking Winchester!"

"It's..." Cain hesitates, and uncharacteristic move. "It seems Dean's profile is partly to blame."

Dean scowls harder. Castiel squeezes his shoulder as he passes by further into the room. "How is that possible? The profile is impeccable."

"Not anymore it's not," Cain says shrewdly. 

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Dean stops him. "He's right. M-M-M-Michael is escalating. He's not as harmless as b-b-before."

Cain nods. "Unfortunately, since the case is closed, the courts won't hear anything else about Michael Pellegrino's mental state unless he actually does something. I've tried. I took the emails and letters you sent, and we hit a dead end as far as I can go. I apologize."

"You did what you could," Castiel counters. "At least they're on file with law enforcement now."

Jody, looking like she's chewing glass, heaps on her bad news, too. "The best I can offer is a temporary restraining order, but in this case, I'd suggest not pursuing it."

Shoulders tightening, Dean asks, "why? We can't g-g-get it without releasing Sam's itinerary?"

"Exactly. And I'll bet dollars to doughnuts, Michael will try to walk right through it, anyway."

"Then hell to the no," Gabriel says, shoving into the room behind Dean with Charlie hot on his heels. "Sam's easy enough to find as it is. We're not laying out the red carpet on top of it."

"Agreed," Castiel says. "Dean?"

He has to massage his jaw for a moment to unclench his teeth. So much for the brief mood improvement at the shooting range. "Agreed." He looks around the room with a kind of desperation. "Is there _any_ g-g-good news?"

"Yes?" Charlie offers meekly. "I managed to track and block Michael's emails. I know you guys said to let the filters get them to reroute to the file, but when I looked through them, they're the same thing over and over. It's like he queued up seven of them and just sends them over and over. It's not much, but it's..." she shrugs.

While Dean appreciates the attempt, she's right. It's not much. It's certainly not enough to deter him. "Thanks," he says with as much sincerity as he can muster.

"So, what now?" Castiel asks wearily. 

"Sit on our hands," Dean answers angrily.

"No, we don't," Sam pipes up. "I can talk to Brady again. I can--"

"--Tyson B-B-Brady is the reason we're in th-th-this fucking mess!" Dean yells.

Sam shoots up in his chair. "Come on, I can--"

"--You've d-d-d-done enough!"

"Dean!" Castiel plants his palm on Dean's chest. Loathe as he is to come down on his partner in public, the one thing Dean's has issues with since the accident, is allowing his anger to explode at people who don't deserve it. So he sucks up the ramifications, and orders, "come with me. Now."

There's surprisingly little resistance. Dean spins around and stalks out of the room perfectly willingly.

Castiel takes a beat to address the rest of the room. "Sam, please don't blame yourself for this. You know how Dean gets when he feels like every step forward is three steps back. I apologize, everyone. I'll get him squared away."

"I know," Sam says, running his hands through his hair. "He needs a break. He's been heading this campaign since the second he got back. So, look, we'll keep on the think tank here, okay? Just... take care of Dean. We all thought the book would finally be closed on this one. It was the last thing to..." he shakes his head. "Anyway, I get it. It's fine." He doesn't look fine, but he's trying to be, and that's all anyone can ask of him at the moment.

Castiel nods to them all, then follows after Dean to their bedroom. The door is closed and he stops, hand on the knob, to collect himself. He's a little ashamed of himself for feeling disappointed about their likely thwarted nighttime plans instead of focusing on Dean's emotional needs. But it's there, and he's learned through excellent therapy that nothing good comes of trying to ignore that his emotions are there.

He'd been sincerely looking forward to their scene. For lack of any other further options, he'd hoped it would ease Dean's mind and body for a time, though the brief meeting was probably the straw that broke the camel's back on that one. 

Therefore, he feels that he can be excused his dumb response of, "what?" when he opens the door to discover Dean standing by the foot of the bed, body taut with fury, and grinding out the word, "green," between clenched teeth.

Castiel blinks.

"G-g-g-green," Dean repeats.

Closing the door quickly behind him, Castiel starts, "Dean, I don't think you're..." He pauses at his husband's murderous look. He's on the wrong track. Somewhat incongruously, there's Cain's voice in his mind. _Don't assume anyone's needs but your own._

"Color," Dean snaps.

Castiel stares hard at his husband. So desperately yearning to be his sub right now. He's saying it's okay. "Green," Castiel says calmly. He straightens his shoulders. "I'm happy to do a scene with you, as we'd been planning, but you need a clear head for it."

"It is," Dean hisses, yanking at his shirt and ripping it off over his head.

Stubbornly, Castiel plants his hands on his hips, unmoved. "Your actions speak differently."

"I'm f-f-fine," Dean insists, volume rising. He reaches out and attempts to tug at Castiel's shirt, but Castiel firmly brushes his hand away.

"You'll tell me the truth so that I can help you," he commands. Dean moves in again, but Castiel catches his wrist. "Look at me."

Dean at least follows that command, though there's too much fire in his eyes to submit just yet.

Castiel's not about to give up. He can work with this. Dean wants him to. He wants to. He never wanted an unchallenging sub. "Please focus."

Dean's deep breathing shivers in and out of his chest with his ire. 

"Tell me what's going on," Castiel says steadily.

"No," Dean grits. "Just... please."

"Tell me," Castiel demands intensely.

"No!"

"Dean!"

"I feel li-i-i-i-ike I'm l-l-l-losing it!" He shouts. "I'm l-l-l-losing my fucking _m-m-m-mind_!"

He doesn't flinch in the face of Dean's outburst. He can fight the tide. "You're not," Castiel says sharply. "Just focus."

Dean growls with rage, even _that_ sound trembling in his throat. He grabs his hair and pulls hard. He can't. He fucking _can't_. He's _done_. There's no fucking _winning_! And there's no fucking outlet! His arm sweeps out to destroy _something_. He needs to hear something break. Make something shatter. He's inches away from his foot charger resting on the bed when his movement is abruptly halted.

Castiel grabs Dean's left arm in a bruising grip, then swings his left hand up and slaps Dean across the cheek hard. " _Focus_!" he yells.

Dean's head whips to the side and he gasps. The stinging pain stops him dead in his tracks. It's... good. Yes, it's good. This is good. Castiel has him. Castiel can control him. Castiel knows what to do. His Dom. His gorgeous, sexy, perfect, strict Dom. He needs this, and only Castiel can give it to him.

"I'm sorry," Dean gasps, cheek still smarting.

"I should think you are," Castiel returns. "Are you finished with your tantrum?"

"Yes," Dean answers.

"Then tell me. Who is in charge right now?"

"You are."

"Who controls your pleasure, and more importantly tonight, your pain?"

"You d-d-d-d-do," Dean pleads.

Castiel steps into his space, pressing his palm over the reddened flesh of Dean's cheek. "Take a deep breath for me, please."

Dean sucks in all the air that his lungs can hold and then lets it out in a wheezing sigh. He's humiliated when he realizes how close to tears he is.

But Castiel only pulls him closer with both hands on his face, kissing him hard, but chaste. Dean wraps his fingers around Castiel's wrists tightly. When they pull away, Castiel says, "since you seem so intent on self-flagellation, we'll go with that, yes? It hardly seems fair that I should waste all of _my_ energy punishing your outburst, does it?"

"What should I d-d-d-do?" Dean asks suspiciously, though the inferno of anger is fading to embers rapidly now that he's getting at least the promise of what he needs. 

Castiel walks to the closet and opens the doors, unhurried. The drawers in the recessed cabinets hold some of their more often used toys, but Castiel pulls one out from the back that they've never touched before. And with it, a remote controlled vibrator and a bottle of lube. He tosses them onto the bed. "What do you think?" he asks in his professionally detached tone.

Dean stares at them. "Dunno," he admits honestly.

"You can pick it up," Castiel says. "Feel the weight and form of it." He stands beside Dean, fully clothed and not touching. "I can arrange different punishment if you're still uncertain."

"I'm..." Dean reaches forwards, brushing his fingers over the red leather flogger. He has to admit that it makes him uneasy. When they'd first discussed toys that they'd be willing to use, Dean had hesitated at some more... impactful methods of administering pain. But that had been before they'd really fallen in love. Way before they were married. Eons before he had learned that Castiel's mastery of his mind and body could take Dean so much further into pleasure than he ever thought he could go. And for someone who had never denied himself pleasure when he wanted it, that was saying a lot. 

He picks it up off of the bed in his right hand, palming the handle. It's... sturdy. He sifts the fingers of his left hand through the thin leather strips that end in small knots. They feel surprisingly soft. He recalls that one time years ago at that highly rated strip club Sam had taken him to after he'd passed his FBI field test.

Smiling, he remembers Sam saying, "yeah, the Clam Diver. It's got 4.5 stars." What a weird night it had turned out to be. But there'd been that one girl in the VIP lounge who'd slipped him a similar flogger with a knowing grin. Fuck, but she'd made the most amazing noises and come without him putting a finger on her when he'd reddened her skin with it. 

He wanted to know if he'd be the same. 

He hadn't remembered that when Castiel had given him a printed list of the toys he preferred and solemnly told Dean to strike off the ones he didn't want to use, circle the ones he did, and put a question mark beside the ones he was unsure of, or would be willing to discuss at a later date. He's positive that Castiel is thinking about that list at this very moment. 

So he asks, "why now?"

"I saw your hesitation over it," Castiel answers, confirming Dean's suspicions. "I remember it vividly, in fact. You barely paused for most of the choices; you seemed to know your mind about them even without experience, and to this day that list hasn't changed. But..." The only touch he offers now is the slightest brush over Dean's fingers which are still tangled in the strands.

Castiel glances up and meets Dean's eyes. "You impressed me so much with your certainty. It made me feel more confident than ever that we'd made the right choice to enter kink together. I've always been intrigued by you hesitance over flogging. And I think perhaps tonight is the perfect night to come to a decision. And let me be clear."

A much firmer touch comes as Castiel knuckles under Dean's chin to bring his head up. "There are no consequences to you saying no to this. I simply believe that this is the ideal time for you to decide. You will be in full control of your punishment. You may stand, sit, or kneel. You may make as much noise as you wish. I have only one rule. That rule is that you must come without touching yourself or me touching you. If you fail to do so before you have finished your punishment, you will go to bed aching in more ways than one. Do you accept? Take all the time you need to think about it."

The crazy thing is, Dean doesn't need to think about it. Not with Castiel knowing him better than he knows himself. He's set up the perfect time and place again. The perfect situation again. It's always everything he needs to do what he never thought he was capable of. No one on this planet believes in Dean more than Castiel. 

"I'll d-d-do it," he says firmly. "I want to."

His lack of hesitation breeds the same in Castiel. "Remove your clothes. Get into the position you prefer. Do not waste my time."

Dean follows the instructions to the letter. He yanks at the rest of his clothes with the same fervor as earlier, but without the rage behind it. That's burned itself out almost completely. He can feel it burning under his skin still, waiting to be baited back, but he pushes the thought away. He's got one thing to focus on, and that's his Dom. What he's supposed to do for him. Nothing matters except pleasing him. He needs this _so badly_. Castiel can take him out of his head. He can do this. He can earn this.

Naked, he sinks to his knees, face upturned to Castiel in supplication.

Castiel thumbs over Dean's bottom lip wistfully. "Sometimes it's a shame when you behave well enough that I don't need to bind you."

Dean smiles, pleased at the praise.

Castiel sinks to the foot board, perched on the very edge. He pats his knees. "Over here. I'm going to open you." His legs are hanging far enough off the bench that Dean can easily scoot over and drape his torso across Castiel's knees. Once he's situated, Castiel asks, "would you like to remove your foot?"

"No," Dean answers. "B-b-better balance."

Castiel strokes down the strong line of Dean's spine, making his sub arch into it a little. "You have more muscles than you used to."

"Overcompensating," Dean chuckles.

Castiel laughs lightly, too. But his hands keep up their wandering. "I like it," he says conversationally. "You've always been strong. I've never thought I could break you, but even so, now..." his fingers dig into the meat of Dean's shoulders, blunt nails leaving slight crescents behind. Dean moans breathily. "Yes," Castiel murmurs. His burgeoning erection presses into Dean's cheek, and for the moment he allows his sub to nuzzle at it. 

He picks up the lube and squirts a generous amount onto his fingers. He trails them down Dean's cleft to his hole, pressing firmly in a circle over the puckered flesh until Dean starts to squirm. "Remember my instructions," he warns before slipping his pointer finger in only to the first knuckle. Dean makes a small noise of pleasure, but holds as still as he can, worried about too much stimulation too fast. Castiel approves by sliding in deeper, smearing the lube around. After all, the idea is to give Dean enough buzzing pleasure that the pain later only amplifies it. 

Therefore he attempts to keep his touches perfunctory since they have a ways to go. Of course, Dean has become a much more experienced bottom so he relaxes himself and opens much more quickly than he used to. He feels heat on his jeans and then the unmistakable sting of Dean's teeth digging into his thigh.

"Feels good?"

Dean lets loose a small moan in his throat.

A second finger joins the first and Dean's hips jut back. Castiel grabs the meat of Dean's ass. "Easy, my love," he rumbles. "I thought you'd learned patience."

In response, Dean's arms wrap around Castiel's calves, clinging.

Castiel keeps his ministrations tortuously slow, never pushing deeply enough to give his sub what he _really_ wants. He avoids the prostate, spreading his fingers minutely until Dean's internal muscles stop quivering and relax around him.

"Good," he purrs. "Now for step two. Are you ready, or do you need a moment?"

Dean lifts his head, leaving behind a rapidly chilling wet spot on Castiel's jeans from here he'd been hanging on with his teeth, panting hot. His heart is pounding hard enough that Castiel can feel it on his leg. "Now, please," he whispers.

Unhurriedly, Castiel removes his fingers and picks up the vibrator. Slicks it with lube. It's a simple thing; fairly thin and short with few speed settings. That's why Castiel likes it so much. It won't make Dean come all by itself, being more of a mildly stimulating plug than anything else. He'll need more. And Castiel won't give it to him. It will keep him high, but never shoot him into the stratosphere. He can't wait to see what his sub is capable of in this situation.

Again, Castiel takes his time working into Dean. He doesn't react to the new intrusion at first, but once the vibrator is turned on, he sighs softly and moves his hips for a more comfortable angle.

Incrementally, Castiel allows Dean's body to set the pace. He trusts his sub to follow his instructions, and so far Dean is doing so spectacularly. He's turned his head towards Castiel, still resting heavily on his Dom's lap, dark green eyes watching him while his hips work in lazy rolls to gradually seat the vibrator properly. 

Purposefully, Castiel keeps them turned away from the clock so that neither of them will feel the intrinsic need to rush. 

It's a good call because Dean takes his time settling while Castiel lets the minutes tick away, stroking Dean's back, massaging, teasing, drawing nonsensical patterns here and there. "Are you ready?" he asks eventually.

"Yeah," Dean answers, already sounding completely blissed out.

"Take any position you like."

Carefully, Dean slips down from Castiel's lap. He scoots back a foot, then shakily rises to his knees. He sits back on his heels, digging the vibrator into his body, a fine tremor running through him. Dutifully he ignores his dick, bobbing hard and ready towards his belly.

Castiel wipes his hand clean then gathers up the flogger, offering it out in his open palm. Still leaving the choice entirely up to Dean.

Dean grasps the handle. Slips it from Castiel's hand, running the strips lightly over his skin. "How many?" he asks.

"Ten is the goal for tonight," Castiel says. "This softer kind of flogger won't break your skin as easily, but we won't risk it. Keep to your chest and back. Avoid your kidney area. And remember to take your time since your pleasure, pain, and completion are contingent upon each other. You must come this way. Do you think you can do it?"

The leather squeaks as Dean clenches the handle tightly. "Feel like I can d-d-do anything when you tell me to," he answers earnestly. 

"Then get to it," Castiel encourages lovingly. 

He should have known that his beautiful sub wouldn't do anything in half measures. Dean raises his arm over his head and brings the straps of the flogger down against the center of his back with a resounding _slap_. He gasps, jolting, and the motion jostles the vibrator inside of him. Eyes popped wide, he stares up at Castiel in wonder.

A slow smile blooms on his face. "How does it feel?"

"D-d-different," he admits, rolling his shoulders. "It's... d-d-deeper than the other kinds of pain."

"Exactly." Castiel leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, heat building in his groin, hardening him further. "Do you like it?"

Dean raises his arm again, whipping himself again in almost exactly the same spot. He cries out in a mix of pleasure and shocked pain. Pre-come beads from the head of his cock.

Castiel licks his lips.

"So g-good," Dean gasps.

"Keep going," Castiel commands, voice rough. He can almost feel the measured hits that Dean administers, body spasming each time Dean's does, breath becoming ragged the same as his sub's. It's incredible. More than he'd ever hoped for.

Dean's head falls back, mouth open in a silent "O" of ecstasy. He alternates between his chest and back, thin red welts spreading over his gorgeously freckled skin. Castiel wants to taste them all.

Each time his body jerks, Dean's cock slaps against his belly. It's so hard. Throbbing with need. Leaking profusely. Castiel thrills at it. He'll do it. Dean will do it.

Blow after blow, and for the first time, Castiel can watch Dean slip into the high of subspace without distraction. He should have thought to film it. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Dean's cries of need grow stronger, louder. He's close. _So close_. And so far beyond himself that he's lost count.

After the tenth blow across his sensitive nipples, Dean's trembling arm reaches up for an eleventh hit.

Immediately, Castiel grabs Dean's forearm. "Enough!" he warns harshly.

That simple contact is just enough. Dean arches up with a hoarse scream, nearly about to stand, and comes hard.

Castiel tumbles from the bench on top of Dean, flattening him onto his back and tearing at his pants. Underneath him, Dean dazedly murmurs, "please, please, please."

Castiel thrusts his aching cock into Dean's open, waiting mouth. The last of his control remains only to keep himself from thrusting too forcefully. His pace is controlled and measured, though his heart and mind are wild things.

Dean remains limp against the carpet, moans vibrating against Castiel's dick. The fibers abrade the welts on his back, the feel of it making Dean's eyes practically roll back in his head. The only time he moves at all is when Castiel finally shudders and comes with a groan. He begins to pull away, but Dean's hands shoot to his hips, holding him fast to drink every drop of him.

Exquisite. Castiel sighs out his love between slack lips. 

It's a long time after that Dean allows himself to be moved and cleaned up and only does so when Castiel strips out of his own clothes so that they can lay together naked.

Castiel brings him to the bed, examining the welts carefully for any broken skin or too much bruising. Unable to stop himself, he traces nearly all of them in turn with his fingertips. "Dean," he says reverently, "you did so well. I'm so proud of you."

Dean smiles tiredly, still looking a bit drunk. "You d-d-do so much for me. I never..." he shakes his head of the cobwebs. "You're amazing, Cas."

"I'm grateful to you always accepting this expression of my love for you."

"What can I do for you, though?" Dean lethargically shifts around to splay himself across his husband. "Never feels like enough."

Tenderly, Castiel strokes his long fingers through Dean's sweat-dampened hair. "It's more than enough," he says softly. "You do everything for me. Learn that lesson well."

"Yes, sir," Dean murmurs, eyes closing.

Castiel doesn't mind him falling asleep. His stress, anger, frustration are gone. He'd done that for his sub. For his husband. He spends all the time he wishes dabbing cooling aloe on Dean's skin, more content than he can ever remember being, despite everything that awaits them outside their haven. The world can wait. They've earned this reprieve. 

And Castiel settles in for the night more determined than ever to defend it whatever cost.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** It’s Castiel’s birthday. He and Dean have the whole day to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  mild food play  
> finger sucking  
> dirty talk  
> masturbation  
> domestic scening  
> extended scening  
> safewording  
> handcuffs  
> shibari

Mornings where there's nothing to do - hours stretching ahead at their leisure - are rare. Exceedingly so the more famous that Sam gets. There's always _something_ to do. Calls to make, files to update, schedules to plan, another task or item left to tackle on the to-do list. 

But, today? The sky's the limit. Dean had made sure of that. He doesn't ask for days off, ever. Sam can't just stop being famous, so it always feels unfair to ask him to lay low in the house all day for the benefit of someone else's laziness. But today is special. He had to ask the favor of his little brother. 

Sam had actually been thrilled to agree, noting that Jack's training has been superlative and the kid hasn't been out much to explore the city. It's a beautiful day, besides. Breezy and sunny. It still makes Dean a bit hesitant, but after a round of promises to follow check-in protocol to the letter, he agrees. And with a knowing smile, Sam suggests to Jack that they get an early start. 

Early enough that Dean has plenty of time to cook a decent breakfast and bring it back to the bedroom before Castiel wakes up. 

Which is also part of the plan. Trying to wake Castiel up is a calculated risk at the best of times, but Dean's been learning, largely through trial and error, how to approach the beast. He has to go for the throat. It's always wise to go for the throat of a predator. That's always the weak spot. 

God, he loves Castiel's neck. It's strong, warm, and has those soft spots that give way to rough stubble, which Dean takes his time to slowly run his lips over until they start to tingle. Castiel's facial muscles twitch in his sleep, but the way he continues to snore lightly, it's still just a nice dream. Hopefully. Otherwise he could end up with the bad kind of pain. Calculated risk. Totally worth it either way because Dean gets just a little bit hard every time he noses against Castiel's ear, taking it between his stimulated lips. But he doesn't go further quite yet. His naked skin in the cold air conditioning is puckering with the need to press against Castiel's warmth, but not yet. Not... quite... yet.

There's a small breathy noise from Castiel. He begins to shift a little, the waking world calling to him finally. He tends to sleep like the dead, so movement means imminent grump. Most of the time. Not this time. Castiel had approved somnophilia, but Dean hadn't ever risked it since his husband's morning demeanor generally sits in direct contrast to being woken up before he's ready, the promise of sex or not.

Dean slips Castiel's boxers down and brings his hips low enough that their dicks brush. He rolls his hips, his cock hardening with every brush of their silky flesh together. He lowers himself onto his forearms and brushes his lips over Castiel's. So light. So much lighter than he wants to. It's barely there. It's fucking _frustrating_. But he loves it. _Loves_ it. Because today isn't about him.

Castiel's lips respond after a long, torturous minute. They return the pressure gently. Dean's mouth opens slightly. Castiel's teeth catch Dean's bottom lip.

When Dean manages to open his eyes, he's caught in the sea of sparkling blue. "You've learned an impressive amount of restraint," Castiel murmurs, voice sleepy sandpaper.

Dean drapes himself over Castiel, lips close to his ear. In a slow, measured drawl to keep his stutter at bay as much as possible, Dean sings Happy Birthday in his smooth, pleasant baritone.

At least having the good grace to wait until he's done, Castiel groans in the least sexy way imaginable. "It can't be." But he's smiling at his husband in adoration.

Dean starts to pull the covers down, kissing a trail in the wake of exposed skin, which Castiel, thankfully, responds well to. His body curves towards Dean's mouth, goosebumps raising on his skin. His nimble fingers dig into Dean's hair and he makes softly pleased noises, though he's still too much on the sleepy side to heat up higher than a low simmer. "Please be in a g-g-good mood this morning," Dean murmurs against the center of his husband's chest. 

"How much time do we have?" Castiel answers lazily.

"All damn day," Dean answers. "Jack has Sam covered. It's your b-b-birthday present from the b-both of them."

Castiel sighs a small laugh. "Then why can't I go back to sleep for a while?"

Dean pushes up onto his knees, straddling Castiel and stroking over his chest. "Because I have a present for you, and I also made you b-b-breakfast."

Blinking his eyes open again, Castiel says, "what a rare treat," with the beginnings of a smile.

Dean leans over to grab the tray and set it beside them. He's no slouch in the kitchen. In fact, he can make a breakfast spread better than the chef they used to employ. But for once, he's fine with his skills playing second fiddle to the birthday present that he's also placed on the tray and causes Castiel to shoot up to a fully awake sitting position immediately. His mouth works, but he can't seem to find the words for a minute. "You like your g-g-gift?" Dean prompts.

Castiel's shocked gaze finally unglues itself so he can stare at Dean. "How long?" he asks like he thinks he may still be dreaming. 

Dean shrugs a single shoulder. "All day, if you want."

Castiel swallows hard. "You can take it off any time to end the scene. No questions or consequences from me."

Dean nods. "I can agree to that."

"I never thought we'd be able to," Castiel says, voice oddly thick. "Never thought we'd have time."

Dean reaches out and takes Castiel's trembling hands in his own. "I mad-d-de the time."

A myriad of expressions flit across Castiel's face. Dean can't hope to catch them all, but what he does recognize are the same warring feelings he had. _Is this really okay? Is this fair to Sam? Is this worth the schedule upheaval? Am I worth all this trouble?_.

There's only one answer. "Yes," Dean says. "We can let ourselves have this tod-d-day."

There are another few moments of silence, stillness. Then Castiel's hands are on Dean's neck gently circling behind, and Dean releases a breath of relief as Castiel fastens the thin green collar against the knob of his spine. His fingers trail over the soft leather back to front, two fingers hooking underneath to both test the fit and - just a little bit - hang on for dear life. "It's beautiful on you," he sighs shakily.

Dean's smile is the rising sun. "You d-d-don't wanna know how long it took me to d-d-decide on a design."

Castiel yanks at the collar, pulling Dean off balance so that he topples forward, only catching himself on Castiel's shoulders at the last second. Their faces are only inches apart. "Worth the wait," he growls, kissing Dean with all the pent up energy of someone truly grateful for a gift, yet without the ability to express it any other way. 

Of course, it doesn't go on long before Castiel remembers that they _have all day_. He draws back like he's trying to resist doing so. But it's worth it. He doesn't let go of Dean. Doesn't let him go far. There's just enough space to really look at him. 

Dean stares back at him, eyes bright and clear. He's happy. Content. Unsated and blissful.

"You've sufficiently worked up my appetite," Castiel says archly. "But I hope you don't expect me to put in much effort at this time of the morning."

"I was counting on that," Dean answers with genuine pleasure. He picks up the bowl with his famous fruit salad. Classified recipe, no he'll never tell, yes it's fucking _delicious_ , and the only acceptable way to eat fruit that isn't in a pie. He will never in his life admit how long it takes to make and how much love it requires to perfect.

Three days. It takes three days to make.

Castiel's eyes slip closed in appreciation as soon as the first piece of strawberry hits his tongue. "Where were you hiding this?" he asks joyously. "How didn't I find it? How didn't Sam?"

"I've g-g-ot a few tricks up my sleeve," Dean answers. Plus, the fridge is huge. It's easy to hide something you're not actively looking for, though Dean refuses to point that small fact out.

And thankfully Castiel doesn't press. He simply opens his mouth for more. Dean fixates on his Dom's mouth. The way he takes in every bite like the food Dean makes is fruit from the tree of life, pun intended. A slice of mango, then kiwi, and a few raspberries later, Castiel has woken up enough to give the whole thing the VIP treatment.

It's back to strawberries, and this time when Dean offers it up, Castiel's tongue peeks out, sucking the fruit, and Dean's finger past his plush lips. Unconsciously, Dean leans towards the contact.

_This is a thing,_ Dean thinks wonderingly as Castiel opens his mouth for another bite and Dean has to brace himself for the suction of Castiel's mouth; the stiff tip of his tongue sliding up the underside of his fingers. _This is a thing I think I'm really into._ Suddenly, "all day" seems like a daunting amount of time.

Then again, Castiel is a master of control. When they'd talked about long scenes, Castiel had admitted he'd never attempted anything above four hours, but had always wanted to truly test his stamina. It seems like neither of them can wait to see how it goes. 

However, it becomes readily apparent fairly quickly that in order for Castiel to be able to keep full control for an extended period of time, he's going to have to lose a bit of it first. Especially if this whole hand feeding him breakfast thing is turning him on half as much as it is Dean. 

He's not really sure how to bring it up, though. Not sure how much leeway he'll have for suggestions over the course of the day. He waffles about it until the solution offers itself in a stroke of luck, or in this case, spilled orange juice.

Castiel finishes the last of the fruit salad, and feeling bold, Dean swipes his finger through the honey mixture, holding his fingers in front of Castiel's mouth. Pleased, Castiel takes his time with the treat. He licks up every bit of it, tongue sliding between Dean's fingers. The silky wetness sends a surprising little shock up Dean's arm. Then Castiel bites down over the knuckle, tugging Dean towards him. 

So entranced as to be careless, Dean jolts forward, knocking the cup of juice out of Castiel's hands, spilling it over his chest. The bed is saved any embarrassment, but the sticky liquid soaks into Castiel's half-undone pajama pants. 

"Sorry," Dean mumbles, going for the kiss anyway while blindly shoving the cup onto the nightstand. 

Castiel allows it, yanking him closer for a full on makeout session that ends when Dean shifts to reposition his legs and grinds their dicks together. He's still on the melting side of horny, but Castiel has reached the boiling point. He moans and breaks the kiss, head falling back as he ruts up. 

"I've made a mess," Dean points out, though unwilling to stop peppering Castiel's face with light kisses. 

"I didn't shower last night," Castiel demurs. "You'll help me with that since you wasted all of Sam's fancy orange juice." He pushes at Dean's shoulders and the separation makes Dean whine. "Draw a bath for me," Castiel says imperiously. "Since we have all day, I feel like being spoiled."

"I can d-d-do that," Dean smiles. He crawls out of the bed and goes quickly to the ensuite bathroom. Somehow he has the feeling that despite their lazy start, Castiel won't tolerate much dithering. He hears the sheets shifting as Castiel drags himself out of the bed lethargically. Dean's private smile widens. No matter how good the start is, Castiel will always drag for a couple of hours. Doesn't matter, because sub or not, Dean's got a plan that he thinks his Dom will be game for.

He flips on the water a little hotter then he prefers and plugs the drain. Then he goes to the sink to grab Castiel's bath bombs. They're green tea and smell nice. Castiel swears that they help him wake up more, but Dean remains dubious. He tosses one into the tub, letting it sizzle and turn the water a milky light green.

Castiel shows himself a moment later, sodden clothing bundled in his arms to toss into the hamper. He stands in front of Dean naked and eyes still half-closed as he inhales deeply. He comes to the side of the tub and takes Dean's hand. 

Before he's able to issue a command that Dean won't want to refuse and ruin the plan, Dean says, "wish I could join you, b-b-but can't get the hardware wet." He taps his toes to the prosthesis.

Castiel frowns mildly at that, but says, "you're right. And if you're more comfortable with it on for now..." he trails off sounding just the right amount of disappointed that Dean is confident in his next suggestion.

"I can still help you relax," he says amiably.

Castiel slips into the water, sinking to his chin with a contented sigh. "Oh?" he asks mildly. "How?"

Unwilling to risk damage to his foot, Dean back steps to the sink and sits on the counter. "I can tell you how I loved-d-d waking you up. Putting my mouth all over your warm skin. Wanted to suck you off."

The water sloshes as Castiel sucks in a breath through his teeth and palms himself. "Why didn't you?"

Dean chuckles. "Was kinda scared I'd g-g-get punched in the face. B-b-but you're really hot when you sleep. Unguard-d-ded. I think ab-b-bout fucking you all the time."

"Tell me," Castiel orders, fisting his hard cock and jacking himself off slowly. 

"When you come b-b-back from running, all sweaty, I wanna shove those shorts d-d-down your ass and bend you over the kitchen counter."

Castiel groans. 

"Or on set, wanna use our lunch break to take you b-b-b-behind a trailer, g-g-get on my knees, and d-deep throat you 'til you scream."

" _God_ , yes!" He works his fist faster, gripping tighter.

"And every night, I want you inside me or me inside you, g-g-g-grinding until we b-b-both come. Fall asleep with you b-buried to the hilt."

Castiel comes with a gasp and nearly slips down under the water as he scrambles to keep himself upright. He takes a minute to catch his breath, open his eyes. His gaze slides over to Dean. "I've dirtied the water."

Dean snorts, choking back the full laugh. "That's why we have a shower."

"I'll make you more compliant," Castiel notes, unplugging the drain, but going to the shower anyway. "Get my clothes ready," he tosses over his shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, Dean hops off the counter and goes back to the bedroom. He realizes that an extended scene will take a bit of time to settle into, and also that Castiel will be forgiving until he's properly awake. Still, testing the limits of Castiel's patience in a scene is a favorite pastime. On the other hand, he's not ready for swift retribution from too much eye rolling this early in the morning. So he lays out a soft pair of sweatpants and t-shirt.

He's just finished doing that when his cell phone pings on the nightstand. Normally, they'd turn them off, but since Sam's out with only one bodyguard, two hour check-in protocol is mandatory. And it would be, no matter who he was with. It breaks up the scene, but Dean figures it to be a small price to pay for the freedom to have the day off. 

There's both text and a video. Sam's message reads, _"there's a giant vegetable contest at the farmer's market????"_

The video is ten seconds of Jack in front of a pumpkin that probably weighs a ton. He's raking his hands through his hair, yelling, "oh, my God! Oh, my _God_ , Sam! I want this! What is this?! Why isn't it Halloween?! Can you imagine carving this?! You'd have to climb _inside_!"

Then behind the camera, Sam admonishing, "Jack, we can't haul something that weighs more than my car!"

Chuckling, Dean sends the confirmation text and tells Sam that Benny might be willing to bring the hitch and trailer if he begged.

Sam sends back a middle finger emoji, and that's the end of the exchange. The phone is tossed back onto the nightstand to wait for the next check-in.

Castiel is back, towel draped over his shoulders. "I heard voices."

"Check-in," Dean replies.

"Good," Castiel says, taking his time to put on his clothes. He forgoes the shirt, only putting on his boxer briefs and the pants. "Have you eaten? Hydrated properly?"

Dean nods. 

"Excellent. Go to the exercise room," Castiel says, casual as ever.

The fact that he's not calling it the play room, even though they're in a scene, pings Dean's radar, but he goes as instructed, standing in the middle of the floor obediently since he was given no further instructions. He glances around, wondering what Castiel has in mind, though the possibilities are pretty endless. Instead of driving himself crazy with it, he keeps his eyes trained on the door. 

Castiel returns with the bottle of lube and some toy that Dean can't quite make out from several feet away since his eyes are still shit. Castiel crosses the room and sets the toy and the lube on the padded weight lifting bench. 

"Even though it's my birthday, I don't see any reason to get _too_ lazy," he remarks conversationally. He kicks out his yoga mat. "And since you're so fond of watching..." he gestures to the bench, the black... plug, it's a plug, sitting dead center waiting. "Have a seat."

Shivering with anticipation, Dean takes a single step towards it, but Castiel halts him with a coy, "ah. One moment. I forgot something." From behind his back he pulls out a set of simple padded handcuffs. "Your attitude has not gone unnoticed. But since it's early, a light punishment will suffice..." 

Resignedly, Dean holds out his hands. So much for his ability to stealth snark. Castiel secures the cuffs quickly and then yanks at them to drag Dean over to the bench. He picks up the plug and lube. His long fingers stroke over it suggestively, slicking it generously. "You can set your own pace to get it inside you, but your time limit is how long it takes me to finish my workout routine. Obviously, you will not use your hands. I realize that you won't be able to balance properly for long periods of time on your prosthesis. Therefore..."

He drops the nylon ropes secured to each cuff to lower a long spreader bar from the ceiling by turning the handle of a winch attached to the wall behind it. When it's just over Dean's head, Castiel says, "raise your arms."

Dean raises his arms up over his head, wrapping his hands around the cold metal bar. Dispassionately, Castiel ties off the ropes and then puts a hand on Dean's shoulder to encourage him to sit on the bench in order to adjust the bar to the proper height so that Dean doesn't injure his shoulders while using it for leverage.

"Stand," Castiel says.

It's awkward trying to balance and not bang his head, but he manages. Castiel lovingly places the plug onto the bench again. Then, he grabs Dean's chin roughly, smile dangerously all teeth. In a clipped tone that Dean is almost positive that Castiel used to command his subordinates in the Marines, he says, "if you come, you will be punished further. If you make too much noise to distract me, you will be punished further. If you speak a single word without express permission, you will be punished further. You're my birthday present, and I expect you to act accordingly; that is to say, for my pleasure and amusement. Am I being clear?"

"Crystal," Dean answers hoarsely.

Castiel's messed hand snakes down between Dean's legs, fingers tracing over his balls, back across his perineum, around his tight hole. The touch is quite perfunctory, like he's simultaneously preparing Dean and wiping the lube off of his hand. And holy _shit_ it's turning Dean on. He never thought a guise of disinterest would make him this hot, but here they are. Dean's winning to work for praise. He needs to. Doesn't want it just because he's sharing his body. He wants to be _good_. Exceed expectations, if he can. 

Castiel steps back, a barely-there smirk on his lips. "You could stand to sweat a little with me." 

_Not a problem when you're wearing those fucking pants._ Dean remains silent. 

It becomes apparent extremely quickly that Castiel is showing off as he begins his routine. He starts facing away from Dean to give him an uninhibited view of his ass and strong, naked back. 

Dean white-knuckles the spreader bar, acutely aware of how turned on he already is, easing his hips down until his hole rests on the blunt tip of the plug. He bites hard on his lower lip to keep the whimper in, eyes slipping shut. 

Castiel completes a sun salutation. His dark chuckle inspires Dean to open his eyes. "Off to an auspicious start, are we?"

_Fuck you, you bendy asshole._ Dean shakes his head, arms beginning to burn as he eases himself down further. Breath puffing out of his nose, he rolls his hips gently until the tip pops in past his rim. He can do this. He _can_.

"That's it," Castiel purrs, breathing elevated. "Just like that."

For all he's worth, Dean tries to close his eyes again, but his brain and his libido are not on the same page. His eyes feast helplessly on his Dom. There's a reason he doesn't involve himself in Castiel's workouts, and this is why. Too much lean muscle and flexibility is hell, especially when he's got a plug halfway in his ass.

Then again, that's the point. He's in the wrong mindset. It's not a contest. Castiel doesn't want him to fail. What brings him the most pleasure is Dean's success. Acceptance. Compliance. Dean sighs, releasing the tension in his arms, settling. The pleasure is intense, but he can make the need for release secondary. For Castiel, he can do _anything_. The buzzing under his skin begins to abate, and he keeps his eyes on his Dom.

Castiel recognizes the moment that his sub finally gives himself up, and he rewards Dean with a sunny smile. "You're such a good boy," he says as he finishes his last stretch. "You seemed agitated before, but now you look calm. I'll let you talk now."

"It's what you want," Dean answers simply.

Castiel straightens. "What do _you_ want, then? Since you've done so well for me thus far, you've earned a small reward, if you'd like one."

"Kiss me, please," Dean says before he's even considered any options. Still. Good answer. 

"Very well." 

He kisses Dean so light and chaste, that Dean feels like he's teleported back in time to seventh grade. "That wasn't much," he says. 

Castiel tips up a shoulder. "I said a small reward."

Dean smiles. "I'll just have to d-d-do better."

Leaning teasingly close, Castiel murmurs, "you always do." Of course, that only means that Castiel gives no further quarter.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Castiel's touches and even his praise are fleeting. Nipple clamps accessorize out in the backyard garden where Castiel picks ripe vegetables and tweaks the clamps every time he drops his bounty into the basket Dean is holding. He makes Dean suck him off under the table while he cleans a few of his guns. The challenge is that Dean is to keep him hard, but not make him come. Dean's jaw aches as much as his nipples once that task is finished. He makes Dean kneel on the floor next to his feet while he catches up on the shows he's recorded on the DVR. Dean's heels dig into his ass, putting pressure on the plug that makes him want to squirm. But he doesn't. He keeps his breathing even. 

At lunchtime, Castiel grabs Dean by the collar and guides him back upstairs. He takes one of the mildly abrading ropes and wraps Dean harshly into a full upper body harness comprised of dozens of knotted diamonds from collar to waistline, back and front. His arms and legs are free, so there's no risk of cutting off too much circulation to Dean's extremities, Castiel makes a point to tie tighter than he usually would. Deep breaths take some work, and the knots scattered all over Dean bite into his skin like tiny bee stings.

Castiel moves away when he's finished, eyes flitting over his work for a solid minute. He gets a look in his eyes that Dean dares to hope for a second means some action, but then it's gone from his Dom's face, and Castiel is demanding hamburgers for his birthday lunch. 

As he'd been doing the whole time, Dean tries to focus on the task at hand. He makes the best goddamn burgers ever. But he's horny and restless. And for as little bodily contact as he'd had after their brief interlude first thing in the morning, Castiel is becoming pretty relentless in the afternoon. He stands close when Dean preps the food, not moving when Dean needs to get past him so that they brush together lightly. While Dean's tending the stove top grill, Castiel painstakingly traces each of the diamonds on his back with a single finger. He pauses only to help slice tomatoes and wash the lettuce. Then he brings them to the table by passing by Dean again and brushing his hand over the back of his neck, making goosebumps rise over his skin.

Then, to add insult to injury, after loading his burger up, Castiel imperiously demands that Dean cut it into fourths and feed it to him by hand. 

Normally, Dean would blacklist something like this because it's a really thin line between servitude play and humiliation play. He'd been in charge of the idea at breakfast, so it had been a mutual give and take. It's all Castiel's demands this time. But... damn, but Castiel looks so... so _earnest_. Like he wants to be served without anything else that would embarrass Dean or make him feel somehow less. He's craving the pampering as much as he does his headstrong husband becoming his pliant and willing sub.

Slowly, feeling every bite from the ropes, Dean slides out of his chair and onto the table, manners be damned. He picks up the plate and Castiel scoots his chair as close as he can between Dean's knees. He looks up at his sub with a smile of expectation, and just like at breakfast, Dean hand feeds his Dom every bit of his birthday lunch, only this time with that godforsaken plug reminding him of his simmering arousal.

The only difference is that this time, when the last of it is finished, Castiel surges up and crashes his mouth against Dean's in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. And Dean rides the wave as best as he can because doing anything else would probably stop Castiel from doing what he's doing, which would be the worst possible outcome of anything ever. 

And when Castiel pulls back, Dean _almost_ groans in protest, but a split second later, Castiel has grabbed the ropes against Dean's chest, causing him to cry out in overstimulated pleasure when the abrading ropes dig into his back even more. His dick twitches hard in his boxers, dangerously close to reaching the point of no return after hours of teasing to the rest of his body. He bites his bottom lip hard.

Fire in his eyes, Castiel says, "don't stimulate yourself. That's my job."

Dean unclenches his jaw obediently. Only then does Castiel resume their journey back up the stairs to the bedroom, carefully but firmly dragging Dean by a fistful of the ropes so that he doesn't stumble. But Dean is perfectly capable of keeping up. He can't run or even jog yet, but his balance is back full force. 

That's why he doesn't protest the manhandling into the bedroom or the unceremonious shove to the mattress. He catches himself on his hands, barely missing the nightstand. He plants his feet on the floor, shutting his eyes tightly as his cock presses against the edge of the mattress. He's been fucked on all fours plenty of times, but this? Upper body laid over the top of the comforter, lower body hanging off the edge? It's so much more vulnerable than he's used to. He'd be worried, but the ropes chafing his skin, pressing hard, ground him. It feels amazing.

He's only got a second to adjust before Castiel is shoving his knee between Dean's legs. Dean spreads wider, canting his ass up.

"You're gorgeous," Castiel murmurs. "The perfect boy today. It's the best birthday gift you could have given me." He removes his clothes as he's talking, quick and a little less controlled than usual.

Then his hands are on Dean again, spreading his cheeks, thumb digging into the plug, pushing it against Dean's prostate. His hips jerk at the jolt and he gasps. But soon Castiel is gripping the base, carefully extracting it bit by bit.

Dean white-knuckles the comforter, trying his best not to move too much. When the plug finally comes free, he feels both relieved and hopelessly empty. "Please," he hears himself whispering.

Castiel doesn't answer vocally, though the blunt tip of his lubed dick probes at Dean's entrance. In a measured thrust, the silky length slips in, filling Dean in the only way that truly satisfies him. He sighs long and softly while Castiel seats himself.

He expects a slow and thorough fucking, especially after the lazy day of languid pleasure, but that's not at all what he gets. Clearly Castiel has reached the end of his patience for the moment, too, because both of his hands spread wide over Dean's back for a second, then suddenly close, grabbing handfuls of the ropes. It squeezes hard enough that the air punches out of Dean's lungs with the intense rush of pain. He can barely get a breath, but he wouldn't stop for anything, the way that Castiel uses the ropes as leverage to fucking into him with brutal thrusts.

Dean loses his grip on the comforter, arms flailing out to the sides for _something_ to hang onto. His right hand accidentally slaps the nightstand, phone tumbling to the sheets. The screen flashes. Dean sees the text, though he's so blissed out by painful pleasure that it doesn't register for a minute. 

And then it does.

" _ **RED**_!" Dean yells. "Red! Red! C-C-C-C-Cas, r-r-r-r-red!"


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel respond to the text. Jack comes through.
> 
> I wrote this chapter at the speed of light because that last cliffhanger was mean, even for me! :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  minor character injury  
> Dom drop

Safewording is terrifying. Not actually doing it. No. Castiel is the perfect Dom. He would never punish or otherwise shame its use since it's the biggest pillar of trust a BDSM relationship can have. What scares Dean right now in this moment is how quickly Castiel will be able to comply. 

It's instantaneous. He feels like an idiot for worrying, though he supposes it can be forgiven in the face of the overwhelming terror.

Castiel is off of him in the blink of an eye, tearing at the ropes. The knots aren't quick release, so Castiel has to go for the pocket knife in his drawer. "It's okay, Dean," he murmurs encouragingly, and at top speed. "I'll get you out of these. Just hang on. Hang on. I'm so sorry. Hang on."

Dean wants to reassure him. Tell him it's nothing he did, because it isn't. But his emotions are roiling into a confusing miasma of fading lust and desperation to respond to the text he'd seen. Track the missed calls. Reset his brain from absolute bliss to where it had slammed into the brick wall of fear at lethal speed. 

Finally freed, Castiel makes a cry of triumph and hauls Dean up, cupping his face, eyes dark with shame and concern. "What happened?" he demands, quietly but frantic. "Talk to me. What happened, Dean? How can I help?"

Dean can feel his throat seizing. Spasming. It'll take too long to talk. He grabs his phone and shoves it in front of Castiel's face.

Wide-eyed with confusion, Castiel blinks at the screen. It takes him a minute to catch on seeing as how he'd thought it was something he'd done to hurt Dean in the wrong way. He takes the phone from Dean's shaking hand and swipes the screen. "Oh, God," he says.

Dean nods furiously, swallowing over and over to calm his throat. "We m-m-m-missed two check-ins."

"We forgot to bring our phones when we changed rooms," Castiel confirms. "Dammit. I'm so sorry, Dean. I should have..." His expression hardens. "It's not important right now. We need to go. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Dean manages to get out through his spasming throat. "Need t-t-t-to refocus."

Castiel stays directly in his vision. "Deep breath. We need to go to work. The scene is over. Check your foot and make sure it has enough battery. Then we'll dress. It's serious, but the emergency code wasn't Tier One. We have a moment to redirect."

Thankful for the direction, Dean does as he's told, checking the battery on his foot while clearing his mind. He's okay. They're going to be okay. Panic isn't necessary. He tries his best not to think about the wasted seconds and minutes. It's not a waste if they are at full capacity. Sam needs him now. That's what matters. 

They don't bother to dress formally as they usually would when going somewhere in an official capacity. Castiel hops his pants back up, and Dean tosses him a hoodie over his shoulder. Castiel yanks it on and digs for Dean's tennis shoes while his husband is busy pulling on his own jeans and flannel. A pair of socks hits him on the side of the head and he catches them before they hit the ground. 

Dressed in record time, Dean's panic fully abates as they grab their wallets and phones, descending the stairs to the garage. They jump into the Impala and are on the road in less than ten minutes. Thank Heaven for small favors that there's hardly any traffic yet. During the whole of the drive, their phones ping almost relentlessly. Castiel relays the pertinent information from the passenger seat and Dean flicks the radio off.

"Sheriff Mills is waiting for us at the station," he says as calm as he can muster. "They're collecting witness statements at the moment. Sam and Jack are there." He pauses to scroll further. Winces. "Charlie is there, too. She says she flagged a relevant email this morning, but..."

"D-d-don't b-b-blame yourself, dammit," Dean grinds out. "It's your b-b-birthday. This shit was just b-b-bad timing."

"I know," Castiel sighs. "I was just hoping... I'm _still_ hoping that someday... I need it to all be behind us."

"This has to stop," Dean agrees sharply. "We're end-d-d-ding this, once and for all."

Castiel's warm hand touches his thigh comfortingly. He says nothing.

The Impala's tires screech as Dean swings them into the parking lot and slightly abuses Jody's good will by parking in a reserved spot. 

Also, Jody was being literal in her text. She's standing in front of the reception desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Simmer down," she says instead of hello.

"Jody--" Dean starts in a warning tone.

Castiel's hand clamps down on his arm hard enough that Dean can't shrug it off immediately like he wants to. "What happened?" he asks before Dean says something impulsive.

Jody nods over her shoulder and leads them back past the bullpen and into her office.

Dean's knees nearly give out the second they cross the threshold. Sam's there. He's sitting on the small sofa next to the window looking _fine_. "I'm not hurt," he says without so much as glancing away from Jack, who Dean belatedly realizes is covering half of his face with a chemical cold pack. 

"What happened?" Castiel repeats in a much more concerned tone, crossing the room to sit on the coffee table right in front of Jack. "Are you all right?" It feels like he's asked those questions too much for one day. 

"He punched me in the _face_ ," Jack answers incredulously. "He punched me in the face with his _gun_!"

"It was probably actually a heavy knife," Jody corrects. "Several other bystanders were stabbed before he got close to Sam and Jack."

"Michael?" Dean demands.

Jody shrugs. "We're not sure yet. He disappeared into the crowds before he could be apprehended, but witness and victim descriptions are pretty consistent, surprisingly. They match Michael Pellegrino's description."

"It was him," Jack says firmly, tone suggesting he's already said it a hundred times.

"Hopefully the market's security cameras got something," Jody deflects gently. "They're not everywhere, but they're in the parking lot and a few around the grounds. We gave your Charlie Bradbury permission to scrub the footage and run her facial recognition. We'll find him or we won't, but we'll be thorough."

"I have an eidetic memory," Jack insists. "I might have only seen him for a second, but it was _him_. It was the face in the mugshot that you guys showed me before. I'm _positive_. I know I couldn't tell you what blunt object that I got hit with, but that's only because I didn't see it before it nailed me."

"That's g-good enough for me," Dean says immediately.

Jack smiles gratefully at him but then is drawn back to Castiel, who is staring at him intently. "Tell us what happened," Castiel says. "Every word. Every detail that you remember."

Jack recognizes the test for what it is, so he does. He goes through the entire day with tenacious detail. Every mundane thing they saw, every errant smell, the sights, the sounds, and he never so much as stumbles. It takes a long time, but they listen. The only time anyone moves is when Dean has to take pressure off of his leg, and sits in a chair to the side of the couch. 

Tirelessly, Jack runs through the minutiae, Sam nodding along, not even giving Jack a sidelong look to suggest he's remembered something differently.

When he's finished, he glances around to all of them with an open look. 

"Satisfied?" Dean asks Jody pointedly.

She shrugs again and hands Jack a bottle of water. "It's not totally my call," she says regretfully. "Look, if the kid says it's Michael, I'll buy it. But we can't haul him in without some evidence that he was even in the state. We'll poke into his financials and have a look around, but unless we can figure out where he is, and where he's been for the last few days, all that'll happen is a freaking PR nightmare if we haul Michael in not long after we took his brother."

Dean groans in frustration, and Castiel appears resigned. "You did well," he says to Jack, gingerly moving Jack's hand from the cold pack so that he can peel it back and have a look underneath. Whatever he'd been hit with, it certainly had done some damage. His face is swollen, already angry red and blue. There's dried blood caked across a shallow cut on his nose that must have bled profusely if the drying red stain on his shirt front is any indication. At least the swelling isn't too bad because of the cold pack. He'll likely have issues opening his eye in the morning, but it could have been worse, knowing those brothers and their willingness to harm anyone in their path, including innocent bystanders. 

"Thank you," Jack murmurs, allowing a bit of mother henning from an apologetic Sam and proud Castiel. He seems boosted by their praise. 

"You ran him off before he hurt anyone else, at least," Sam says. "All those people... and all because of me."

"Don't go down that road," Jody advises. "It's nothing to do with you when someone goes on a rampage. Things like this happen all the time in the world we live in."

Sam grimaces, though he seems to take the words to heart. 

In an effort to pull focus away from his brother's turmoil, Dean asks, "what d-d-did the email that Charlie flag-g-gged say?"

Sam sits up. "It said, 'I'm coming for all of you.' And that was it. She forwarded it to all of us. As soon as I saw it, Jack said we should get back home to safety. We tried, but it was too late. He was already there."

"You did the right thing," Castiel assures them. "You went completely by the book."

Dean nods, resting his elbows on his knees. "Twenty-four hour lockdown," he says. "It's the only option. Half of Michael's plan failed. He was hoping he'd-d-d-d get to Sam b-b-before we could secure him. Hoped his email would b-b-be the cherry on top."

"It almost was," Sam says sourly.

"That's true," Castiel says. "Until we can figure out what's going on and come up with a better course of action, we'll lock down the house. Twenty-four hour security watch." He turns to face Jody. "Can you spare some patrols? Off-duty cops, perhaps? We can pay them."

"'Course I can," she answers. "This is an active threat. We'll be putting rolling patrols through the area, and if you want a stakeout, you got one."

"That would be helpful," Castiel says gratefully.

Jody looks between the family members. "Are you sure Sam's house is really going to be the safest place? Michael's gonna target it. If he knows Sam's schedule, he knows Sam's home address. We have to assume this guy knows everything he needs."

"At least we'll have him on our home turf," Dean says grimly.

Jody sighs, clearly displeased, but unable to offer more officially. "Don't do anything stupid," she says finally. "This isn't the OK Corral. And as much as I know you have that weird fetish, you're not a cowboy."

Dean smiles a little at that. "I'll do my b-b-best to d-defend my homestead in a way that d-d-doesn't give you a headache. No promises, though."

Jody smiles, too. "Wouldn't expect more from ya. Be safe, boys."

There are a few more questions after that, but then Jody releases them. They pile into the Impala, all silent on the drive home. 

Sam looks more exhausted than anyone as they enter into the kitchen from the garage. "I'm sorry your birthday was ruined," he tells Castiel.

With a small start of surprise Castiel says, "you're not blaming yourself, are you?"

Smiling wryly, Sam answers, "nah. I think we're all done placing blame in the wrong places. Still. It sucks and I'm sorry. You know, just in general."

"We're all safe," Castiel says. "That's all I care about."

"I'm going to go change my shirt," Jack says apropos of nothing. He pinches the cotton away from his chest distastefully. "The blood will stain if I don't get it out."

Sam perks up suddenly. "Meet us in the dining room when you're done, okay?" Jack assures them that he will and then wanders towards the stairs. When he's gone, Sam looks at his brothers. "We have all the paperwork done up, right?"

Understanding dawning over Sam's quick shift in attitude, Dean grins. "Yeah."

With his first real smile in a long time, Castiel says, "I'll bring it from the office. Now's the right time." He's back and seated in the formal dining room a minute before Jack reappears.

It feels more like an inquisition than a job interview for everyone involved. Sam, Castiel, and Dean sit on one side of the kitchen table, Jack on the other.

Jack, for his part, doesn't even squirm even though he has no idea why he's there.

Sam takes the lead on this, since it's his opinion that matters most in who is hired to be around him all the time. "Jack, you've done amazing work for us - for me - these past few months. It's not a small thing to watch out for someone like me. But you've done it. Not only have you been discreet and kept my life confidential, you've integrated into the family. And today you took a hell of a hit that probably saved my life. I appreciate all those things more than I can say. Thank you."

Jack smiles, though it's tinged with melancholy. "Thank you all," he says. "I'm not sure if this is the right thing to say since I don't really know what it's like, but you took me in and it felt like a family. Today at the farmer's market I didn't even hesitate. I realized that I'd put my life on the line for all of you, because you mean that much to me. I'm glad I've had this experience, and I'm going to miss you."

Dean snickers, Castiel's eyebrows go up, and Sam laughs. "This isn't a debrief, Jack," Sam says. He glances between his brothers. "The three of us have agreed that you'd be a great fit here in a full time permanent position, if you want it."

Jack's face morphs into an expression reminiscent of a first trip to Disney World and Christmas morning as a seven year old, all at once. "Yes!" he says immediately. 

Castiel is the only one who has the decency to look grave. "This is a serious career decision that you should spend proper time considering. You haven't even looked at the offer," he says in a disappointed father voice. 

Sam and Dean grin even wider.

"But, it's my dream job!" Jack protests. "I want it!"

Laughing harder, Dean says, "what if we were offering you two d-d-dollars an hour and no b-b-benefits?"

Jack frowns. "You'd do that to family?"

That finally gets Sam joining in on the laughter, too. "It's a great package. More than the industry standard." He pushes the folder with the job offer letter and details across the table to Jack, who immediately flips it open to read it, if only to stop Castiel from frowning at him. 

"So... is this about Michael?" he ventures after reading the paperwork. 

"Yes and no," Castiel answers. "This whole debacle with Michael and what happened with Lucifer... it's really come to light that Sam needs a bigger security presence these days. Especially with the convention tours and public appearances that make him more accessible coming up in the next few months."

"I don't want to give all that up," Sam says plaintively. " _Wayward's_ got a convention contract the same as _Fairy Tales_ , and I want to do it. I mean, it won't get off the ground if I say no since I'm main bill. It'll help the show, and let me do something that I love. But Cas and Dean are right; at this point, I need more than them watching out for me. My fanbase is getting a bit bigger. Michael's still out there. We'll get him, but that won't change the need for more people I trust."

"Und-d-derstatement," Dean says. "Sam is g-g-gonna end up an A-lister. We need people we can trust around him to keep him safe for the long haul. Especially since I'm so limited-d-d-d now. I need someone as g-g-good as a brother to d-d-do what I can't. There's no point pretending me and Cas have got it covered anymore."

"We all think that's you," Sam adds. 

Jack looks stunned, though he's smiling. "Thank you," he says softly. 

"Go ahead and sleep on the offer," Castiel says warmly. "We did sort of ambush you, after all. It's a big change. All the details are in the job offer from housing to pay to benefits to... well, everything. If you accept, we'll turn it over to Hannah and she'll take care of the rest."

"I'm going to say yes," Jack informs them.

"Say it tomorrow," Sam grins. "There's plenty of time before filming starts again so nothing has to happen right this second. For the time being, we can just keep on. I've got a few interviews and stuff, but nothing we need the full team for yet."

Jack nods. "I understand."

"Thanks for even considering it," Sam says. "Whether you accept the job or not, I want you to know that you're a part of this family. You've done so much for all of us."

Jack looks fit to burst. "I feel exactly the same way."

The conversation begins to take a turn for the emotional, and they all seem to sense it, standing up at the same time. When Dean moves to follow Jack out of the room, Castiel puts a hand on Sam's arm to stall him from following. They give each other a significant look, allowing the other two to have a moment alone.

"Hey, Jack," Dean says, clapping him on the shoulder on the way to the kitchen. Jack slows his pace automatically, it being second nature now to keep up with Dean. Dean grabs them both a beer. "I, uh... I wanted to say thanks... y'know... _again_."

Jack runs his forefinger around the lip of his bottle. "Did I really help? Have I really helped as much as Sam says?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, surprised. "You think we're lying?"

"No, no way!" Jack says. "I didn't really mean that... I just... it's a lot to think about. I'm kind of... overwhelmed?" His face scrunches. "Yes. I'm overwhelmed."

Dean chuckles, tapping their bottles together in cheers. "I g-g-get that. Trust me. I d-d-do. And I know I played a part in that."

Jack gives him a questioning look. 

Dean sighs and takes a long gulp of beer. "Look, man, it hasn't escaped my notice that I was a d-d-d-dick to you for long-ass time."

"It's okay!" Jack assures him, owl-eyed. "I didn't take it personally. You were going through a lot, and you were worried you'd be replaced by me. I would have been angry, too."

Dean shakes his head guiltily. "It would-d-d'a been fine if you g-g-got pissed. Honestly? It takes a lot to put up with my shit. Lots of people can't. And-d-d I d-d-d-don't b-b-b-b-blame them." 

"Dean." Jack touches Dean's shoulder and squeezes gently.

Right. Even he recognizes the stress signs. Dean takes a pause. Takes a breath. Gets his speech pattern back in order. "You saw through me." He gestures vaguely to the room to encompass everything. "The people around-d us? Part of this family? They're the only ones who d-d-do. The only ones who ever _have_." He pokes Jack in the chest with a wry smile. "You included. You knuckled d-down and did the job. You made yourself a place d-d-despite me. That takes b-b-balls."

Jack's face eases into kind understanding. "I got to know Sam really well. We talked a lot, and he talked a lot about you. He loves you more than anyone. I've never had a sibling, so I can't know what that's like, but it seems awesome. You all are so close. And Sam?" His smile grows. "He let me right in. I love him, you know?"

Dean finally starts to smile, too. "I know. He really mad-d-de an effort when I d-d-didn't. He wanted you to stick around."

"I wasn't sure if it would be best," Jack admits, picking at the beer label with his thumbnail. "But then Castiel said you didn't really hate me, so I reconsidered."

"Nah, you're all right," Dean says flippantly. "For what it's worth, I _do_ think of you as part of the family. I just had to get my head out of my ass. You're g-g-good people."

"Thank you, Dean," Jack says sincerely. "And... I think I found a great family. I want you to know that it's not like I latched onto the first one I found."

Taking another swig of his beer, Dean shrugs. "I know that. You found it 'cause you fit. So." He smacks Jack on the shoulder, making him slosh his drink. "Welcome to the family."

Jack beams. "Yeah."

Dean clears his throat and gives the kid another pat. "Good talk. You're on first shift tonight. Grab a com, meet up with the grounds security, and go memorize the patrol path."

Despite his injury, Jack bounds away with a spring in his step.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Castiel, as it turns out, isn't so easy to cheer up. Naturally, the situation is dire, but Castiel seems even more withdrawn than normal, especially after the conversation with Jack.

"You okay?" Dean asks warily.

Castiel tosses his book to the side moodily. "Yes," he says shortly.

Dean stands at the foot of the bed and arches an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

"Dean," Castiel admonishes.

"Nice try," Dean returns with just as much bite. He sits down on his side of the bed and carefully removes his foot, locking it into the charger on his nightstand. "We've had a hell of a d-d-d-day," he says lightly, reasonably. "We need to to talk ab-b-b-bout it."

Castiel rolls over onto his side facing his husband. He reaches a hand out plaintively. Dean climbs under the covers, scooting over and weaving their fingers together.

"Dean," Castiel says again with entirely different inflection. He watches Dean watching him like a profiler. Putting together the puzzles pieces that Castiel can't bring himself to reveal. His hesitance speaks volumes, but it doesn't mean he wants to hide. Dean knows that inherently. It's a cry for help. And reading people is what he's good at.

After a tense silence, Dean's eyes widen. "This is dr-dr-drop, isn't it? You're...?"

Castiel makes an ugly noise.

"Hey," Dean murmurs encouragingly, wiggling even closer. "It's fine, man. I can take care of you. No prob-b-blem."

"I should be taking care of _you_ , not the other way around," Castiel says fiercely. "It's my responsibility being your Dom." He shoves up in the bed, eyes brilliantly fiery. "I shouldn't _be_ like this. You, as a sub, _need_ me to make sure that from start to finish in the scene, you are safe. Taken care of. In the right headspace."

Dean arches an eyebrow. "D-d-does it look like I'm _not_ right now?"

"How would I know when I'm stuck in my own goddamn head, wallowing over nothing?"

Dean crawls over Castiel's legs and plants his palms flat on his husband's chest. "It's not nothing, Cas. If you say it's nothing, that means what I g-g-go through sometimes is nothing. Do you really b-b-believe that?"

Castiel's eyes widen with shock. "No, of course not! Drop is very real, and should always be treated properly."

"So, why won't you let me help? Doms dr-dr-drop, too."

Castiel covers Dean's hands with his own. Rubs up his arms gently. "I apologize. You're right. You're so right. I just... Dom drop isn't as common, or as severe as sub drop. It's never been bad enough for me to need any real aftercare." He scratches behind his ear. He mutters in conclusion, "usually simply falling asleep in your arms is enough."

"And today it's not," Dean says simply. "That's fine. Tell me what you need."

"I don't actually know," Castiel admits helplessly. "There's too much in my head. Our failed scene, Jack's injury, Sam almost being hurt... it's too much. There wasn't time to process anything after the scene, and it was so long. And then everything after happened so quickly..."

Dean forces Castiel to move forward far enough so that he can get behind him and work his shoulders in a strong massage. "First of all, our scene d-d-d-didn't fail. I know my safeword-d-ding scared you. B-b-b-ut it wasn't about you. What you d-d-did. The scene was interrupted. So you can stop overthinking that, at least."

"Okay," Castiel agrees sounding slightly less constipated. "You've handled all of this so well," he murmurs. "Are you really okay?"

"I will b-be," Dean answers in complete honesty. "Michael's a threat, b-b-but I truly d-d-don't believe he's more d-d-d-dangerous than Lucifer. He won't get past us."

"We're the best at what we do," Castiel says evenly, more and more buttery under Dean's ministrations. "Range won't win over skill."

Dean grins and kisses the back of his husband's neck. "Sure as shit right about that. I'll take second shift. You need more rest to g-g-get your head in ord-d-d-der."

"Roger that," Castiel drawls, shoulders slumping. "Thank you, Dean."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

As much as he knows they need to rest between their shifts in order to stay at full capacity, Dean ignores it for the time being. Castiel sleeps deeply in his arms, and Dean grabs his com off the nightstand, stuffing it into his ear. "Jack?" he calls quietly.

"I'm here," Jack's voice crackles back a moment later.

"How's it g-g-going out there?"

"Calm," Jack answers. "It's a nice night. You should be sleeping."

Dean chuckles softly. "I know. I'm restless."

"I understand. We can switch patrols, if you like. I'm fine to sleep whenever."

Dean runs his fingers through Castiel's hair. "Nah," he breathes. "I'm needed here for now. Sorry. You could use some more recovery time."

"I'm fit for duty," Jack says in an eerily accurate imitation of Castiel. "Don't worry about me. I'll alert you if anything happens."

"Thanks," Dean says. "B-b-be careful." After Jack's affirmative, he removes his earpiece and drops it back to the nightstand, then double checks to make sure that his phone is on the charger with the volume up all way. He won't take chances this time. Not on anyone's life.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Michael makes his play.
> 
> **_Hold on to your butts because there is only an epilogue after this!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:**  
>  handjobs  
> mild violence  
> mild Sabriel - non-sexual

They should be happy for the calm night, and for a while they are. Dean barely gets any sleep the first night, he's so on edge. The exhaustion eats at him, but it never manages to translate properly into sleepiness. He dozes in and out for the remainder of his eight hours until it's time for his shift. 

For Castiel, though, it's the complete opposite. The drop and upheaval were bad enough that he doesn't so much as stir when Dean gingerly extracts himself from his husband's arms and bangs his knee on the open dresser drawer he doesn't see in the dark.

His cursing a blue streak doesn't wake Castiel, either.

At least there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting in the kitchen thanks to Benny and Gabriel having a midnight meeting. 

"You guys vampires or something?" Dean asks, rubbing his eyes against the bright lights. 

"Might be," Benny grins.

"I'm too angelic for that," Gabriel says, batting his eyes.

Dean pours himself a full travel mug. "What're you up to this time?"

Gabriel props his socked feet up on the table casually, a sure sign that he's internally wound up tighter than a spring. "Sam wanted me around while he's on house arrest so he doesn't get cabin fever."

Dean daintily sips his coffee, punctuated by a pointed look at Gabriel. "That why you're packing?"

Gabriel glances down to his shoulder holster and then moodily flips his jacket closed. "I didn't steal the combination to the weapons locker if that's what you're getting at."

Dean snorts. "Even if you had-d-d, we've moved 'em into the hid-d-d-den safe here in the house for now."

Grimacing, Gabriel says, "yeah, suppose it's best to not let Mikey have a whole outdoor arsenal to crowbar open."

"D-d-do you even know how to use that?" Dean asks skeptically.

Gabriel's expression doesn't physically change, but Dean reads people well enough, and knows Gabriel well enough, to see the shift behind his eyes. It significantly piques his interest. "I do," Gabriel says simply. 

Dean stares assessingly for another moment then decides to shrug it off. There's a story there he's 98.7% sure he doesn't want to know. He flicks his eyes towards Benny instead. "You, too?"

"Nah," he answers blithely. "I'm a last resort."

"Good. The less armed civilians, the b-b-better." He flicks on his com. "Jack, come in."

"I'm here."

"You're relieved. G-g-green shift, report in." There's a chorus of ascent over the radio and then a brief role call as the departing shift and reporting shift change out.

Dean slips his glasses on and gives Benny and Gabriel a lazy salute. "G-g-get some sleep." And then he's out the door.

Jack is halfway across the yard when they meet. "I'm surprised that such a secluded place has good sight lines," he says, impressed.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you should'a b-b-been here when the landscape d-designer came in. B-b-built a lot of houses for the rich and famous. Said, his aesthetic was 'artful b-b-but easy to secure.'"

Jack laughs. "Good call. And really pretty. Is there anything else you need from me before I go to bed?"

Dean claps him on the shoulder. "Just make sure Cas is up at least two hours b-b-before his shift or he'll b-b-be useless."

"Roger," Jack chirps. He waits until Dean is hooking up with the rest of his patrol group before trotting back to the house.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"What time is it?" Sam mumbles.

A long suffering sigh later, Gabriel answers, "five fucking minutes since the last time you asked."

"Am I annoying you?" Sam bites.

"Yes," Gabriel answers, refusing to be baited. "Your bro had some good advice for once, and he advised sleep. We should do that. Let's do that."

Sam manages an admirable ten seconds of silence before blurting helplessly, "wanna fuck?"

"No," Gabriel groans. "No, I do not wanna fuck. I do not wanna take off all your clothes, ravish your gym body for the rest of the night, and then..." he stops. "Actually, yes. Let's fuck, Samuel. You always fall asleep afterwards, and we both need that right about now." He pats the comforter over his knees. "C'mon. Get up here."

Sam chuckles tiredly, making a show of yanking the covers around so that he can lie against Gabriel's side. "I'm sorry, Gabe."

"You know how I am when I'm sleep deprived."

"You can go home," he points out.

"Hell, no. I can't be anywhere else. Not without you. Not with what's going on."

More silence, but it's heavy. But knowing Sam, Gabriel knows that the longer he puts the guy off, the longer it'll be until they actually get some shut eye. So he waits it out until Sam bursts. 

"My brothers are out there locked and loaded, ready to die for me _again_ , because why? Because a bunch of network exec's and teenagers decided I was worth screaming over and photographing while I check the mail in my underwear?"

Gabriel threads his fingers through Sam's long hair, staring at the ceiling in contemplation. He's still not good at this emotional support business, but he's starting to understand it. At least as far as Sam projects it. "First of all," he says with a yawn, "you should totally check the mail naked every now and then. Second of all, your brothers are out there doing what they do because you mean more to them than any fucking fan could ever hope to. Your fame is secondary."

"To what?" Sam demands. 

"To you, obviously," Gabriel snarks back. But then he softens. "Fame does crazy shit sometimes. But your brothers aren't protecting that. They're protecting a life worth saving, no matter what. It's what they want to do, and I, for one, think that's okay."

"They've all been through enough."

"You have, too," Gabriel counters. "Mental blows are just as hard-hitting as physical ones. Don't sell yourself short. No one but you thinks you should."

Sam plants a kiss right on Gabriel's cheekbone. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"I know that _now_ ," Gabriel says in mock surprise. He turns his head to glare melodramatically at Sam. "You couldn't tell me that again in, oh, I dunno, six hours when we've _slept_ and I'm not being an old, tired asshole?"

Grinning, Sam says, "I like you all your ways."

Gabriel snorts. "I'm glad you have such incredibly low standards."

Sam's face scrunches. "Do you love me too, or not, you old, tired asshole? You're supposed to say it back whenever I do."

With the last of his energy, Gabriel surges to the side to kiss Sam full and deep. "Yeah, Samshine. I love 'ya. Now, please. Go the fuck to sleep."

He doesn't, but he's an excellent actor, so he pretends. But only after whispering, "thanks for being here for me."

Gabriel's smile presses warm against his shoulder in answer.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Castiel wakes up for his shift glaring at the world in general. He doesn't mind doing this; he'd signed up for it. He just wishes it was easier to wake up when his body protested the hour so thoroughly.

There's already a steaming travel mug of coffee waiting for him in the kitchen. He's almost positive that Dean called that one in and either Sam or Jack delivered. His gratitude is eternal. 

And Dean himself is waiting for him when he reaches his post after roll call and another shift change. At least it's a beautiful day. Looks to be warm and sunny. Easy to see anything unusual.

Dean doesn't take his eyes off of the horizon. "What g-g-gets me," he says like they'd been having a whole conversation already, "is that Michael is out there right now. Probably watching us. Trying to figure out the b-b-best way in."

Castiel puts his hand on his shoulder, also scanning their sight lines. "At least we know there isn't one. He can't get anywhere on the property without us knowing."

"B-b-but he'll try," Dean says. "If he's here." He glances to Castiel. Notices his husband's terrible poker face. Blinks then swears under his breath. "What d-d-did Jody say?"

Castiel starts his rounds slowly, Dean following with him. "She said that Michael used his credit card at a Gas 'N Sip an hour away last week."

"And lemme g-g-guess: they can't find him."

"They haven't found him," Castiel confirms. "But Jody has every available resource out there looking."

Dean points to the high fence and the world beyond the property line. "If he's not out there right now, he will b-b-be soon."

"It won't come to more tragedy for our family," Castiel says.

Dean stops. Finally breaks his gaze away to fully look at his husband. "How can you know that?"

Castiel shrugs. "I have faith."

"For the b-b-both of us?"

Castiel leans in and kisses him briefly. "If I must. Please go get some rest if you can."

Dean aquiesses to Castiel's request. His foot needs a recharge after all the walking, anyway. His leg is sore. His hands are starting to tremble again as his whole body begins to fatigue. Castiel's noticed it. Of course he has. He physically turns Dean gently towards the house. "D-d-don't get d-d-dead," Dean says.

"If anything happens, I'll let you know." As soon as Dean is out of earshot, Castiel pulls out his cell phone and texts Benny. _Make sure Dean sleeps. Urge him to medicate if you must._

A minute later Benny's answer pings. _Don't worry about it, brother. I got a better idea._

Castiel smiles a little as he turns his attention back to his job. The family looks out for each other in every way imaginable. That's why they can survive anything.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"Good day, Dean," Cain says casually from the sofa, flipping through the thousand channels on the TV.

Dean grins, though he'd prefer not to sit down for a full psych session today. "Who called in the cavalry?"

Cain rests his head against the back of the couch, staring at Dean upside down. "You haven't got a guess?"

"Could b-b-be anyone at this point."

"Then I shouldn't reveal the concerned party. Would you like to have a seat? I could do with some stimulating conversation. A thousand channels and still nothing on." He turns the TV off.

Dean collapses heavily onto the love seat, dragging over the USB cord from the wall to give his foot a little more juice. It's been locking up with low battery and he'd been a little bit worried about trying to climb the stairs. "Sure," he says gamely. He needs some time to unwind before even attempting sleep, anyway. "I'm not in a b-bad way, though."

"Didn't think you were," Cain says mildly. "I suppose I'm more concerned about you stress levels in light of what the family is going through now. You often consider yourself to be the primary protector of everyone, so I would guess that you're taking this harder than anyone else."

"Sammy's my little br-brother," Dean says defensively. "'Course I feel that way."

Cain waves a dismissive hand. "Trust me, I understand your feelings. However, adding that to what's happening now... how similar to the events with Lucifer does this feel to you?"

The question pulls Dean up short, though he guesses he should have seen it coming. Should have actively thought about it before. He's slightly ashamed of himself to realize that he hasn't. Then again, that could also mean his PTSD is improving greatly. "It's similar," he admits haltingly. "I d-d-don't know how much yet, b-b-but... you're right. Shit." He rakes his hands through his hair. Or maybe not.

Cain sits forward in his seat. "Are you more worried now than you were then, even though you knew of the potential threat in advance both times?"

"Yeah," Dean mutters. "Hell, yeah."

A small smile peeks out from under Cain's beard. "Why?"

Usually willing to be completely open with Cain, Dean hates to admit that he's too tired to play these puzzle games today. He appreciates them. They bring him to his center and give him coping mechanisms that he can take through life, but he hasn't got all the time in the world for self-reflection right now. "You know why," he says petulantly.

Cain actually laughs. "So do you."

Dean groans. Psychiatrists can never fucking make things easy, can they? "Can't run. Can't see well. Can't shoot the br-br-br-broad side of a b-b-b-barn. You name it. I'm half the man I was when we went up ag-g-g-g-gainst Lucifer."

Pursing his lips, Castiel counters, "are you sure about that? You haven't developed _anything_ that is stronger or better than back then?"

"No," Dean says sincerely. He can't think of a single skill of his that hasn't been negatively affected by what happened.

"Interesting," Cain muses. "I can tell you're not just wallowing in misplaced self-hatred saying that, either."

"Now you g-g-get why I'm worried," Dean says.

"Yes, I do," Cain says. "But I also don't think you've only filled the negative column in your job abilities. I think you put too little stock in the intangible things."

Dean sinks into his seat. "Why are you sud-d-d-denly so willing-g-g-g to tell it like it is instead of me working for it?"

"Because you're goddamn exhausted, Dean, and despite some evidence to the contrary, I don't believe that the hard way is always the best way in the end," Cain says succinctly.

"G-g-g-glad you noticed," Dean says gratefully.

Cain's grin broadens once more. "It's my job. So, without further ado, here's what I see. You're much more careful, controlled. Your impulsivity didn't used to be exactly a _detriment_ , but your more cautious nature now makes you better at what you do without the added dispassion for collateral damage. I think that instead of just _knowing_ how valuable and fragile life is, you now understand it. That makes you even less willing to take unnecessary risks. But it also makes your protocols much more practical and effective. You bring a lot to the table, Dean, and if push came to shove, you'd find that barn side to be plenty broad enough."

After a pensive pause, Dean murmurs, "thanks." He's not sure what to do with Cain's assessment for the time being, since he really _is_ as tired as shit, but he does still appreciate it immensely. 

"You're welcome," Cain nods. "I've been told not to hold you up too long because you need sleep. How do you feel about getting it now?"

"Chances seem b-b-b-better than I expected," Dean answers.

"Good. I'll stick around for a little while, if you don't mind? I believe I can be of some assistance to the rest of the family as well."

"Make yourself at home," Dean says. He unplugs his foot and it's got just enough battery left to get him up the stairs without embarrassing himself. 

He keeps the lights off in the room and the blackout curtains closed. Despite being one of _those_ people who can drop off to sleep at almost any time of the day when necessity requires it, the light makes for shit REM cycles. He wastes no time undressing and putting his foot in its dock to charge faster. 

He's under the covers, contemplating the shadow of the ceiling fan when his phone's screen lighting up and startles him. Squinting, he drags it over and sees a picture of the blue sky and clouds. 

Smiling, he closes his eyes, phone pressed against his chest. He's a lucky man to have married someone who always sees a silver lining.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Those small silver linings that Castiel is so adept at finding definitely comes in handy for the next three days of tightly wound patrolling with no relief for the tension.

Sam looks like shit. And he doesn't let Gabriel get more than a few feet away from him.

Coincidentally, Gabriel also looks like shit even though he'd been the one to insist on his own chivalry. 

Cain's set up shop in the upstairs lounge, and he's got a revolving door of patients to see. He talks so much that he goes hoarse. And that's saying a lot for a man who listens far more.

For all he's worth, Castiel tries to stay positive. He honestly does. Dean does enough doomsaying for the both of them. No. That's unfair. Dean's simply more of a realist. His life hasn't been the same as Castiel's. Castiel had had a simple childhood. Loving parents and a life devoid of struggle. Adulthood had thrown him most of his curve balls. Dean had been the opposite up until recently. It's a hell of a thing, how childhood conditioning can't always be undone, but adulthood experiences can wash off after a while.

However, it's also too much to think about for now. He can't afford to be maudlin. There's a job to be done and he'll damn well do it. Especially if it means Dean can get the rest he needs. 

For four hours, anyway. Half way through Castiel's shift, Dean radios in. It's useless to remind him that they're running a marathon and not a sprint. Dean already knows that and doesn't particularly care. 

It's close enough to the end of Castiel's shift that he figures he can give Dean the time he needs to himself and check on him once he's got himself squared away.

Of course, he's not sure whether or not that was the right decision when he finds his husband holed up in the shooting range with a stack of used paper targets scattered on the ground, and five clips of ammo waiting to be loaded.

Since Dean can't hear through his ear protection, Castiel waits back several steps, hands covering his own ears until Dean's finished with his latest fiber massacre. Only then does Castiel approach and tap Dean on the shoulder.

Dean pulls his ear covers down with a sigh, emptying the clip from the gun and setting them both down on the table. "It's not g-g-g-getting better," he says.

Castiel studies the latest target. It's... pretty grim. "Give it time," he says evenly. "You are improving."

Dean reloads his gun with a fresh clip, but doesn't reset the target. He clicks the safety on and then secures it in his shoulder holster. "Cain said..." he pauses and Castiel raises an interested eyebrow. Deflating a little, Dean continues, "Cain suggested that I'd g-g-get b-b-b-better when it mattered most."

"That could very well be true," Castiel says neutrally. "You don't believe him?"

Dean releases a noisy breath through his nose. "Seriously? I'm supposed to think that I'll b-b-be b-b-b-back to normal like nothing in a crisis? I'll just... feel the Force and b-b-be fine?"

Castiel huffs a soft laugh. "Not exactly. But, you're not entirely wrong. Sometimes the problem is mental."

"I'm fucking _trying_ ," Dean mutters.

"I know. It's hard. You know I've been there."

"Was the Force with you?" Dean deadpans.

Castiel shrugs. "Maybe." It's the best explanation he's heard after years of personal reflection.

Dean shoves away from the range, scrubbing his hands through his hair and then down his face. "It sucks. All this waiting. We _know_ what's g-g-g-gonna happen. It's like b-b-bugs under my skin."

"I know that feeling, too," Castiel agrees, rubbing his own arms. "It's like I've perpetually had too much coffee." His shoulders slump. "Something's gotta give," he says wearily.

Dean tilts his head from side to side in thought. Then he grabs Castiel and slams him up against the diving table, going for the sloppiest, deepest kiss he's capable of. 

Now is not the time. They don't have enough of it. They don't have any of it. Their attention shouldn't be split. Life won't wait. But... but goddamn, it's good. A dangerous time for it, but necessary all the same. Risk assessment here has Castiel breaking back to suck in a deep breath and then slamming his lips back against Dean's, hands yanking at his hair. Dean has to be the one to remove any clothing that he wishes because Castiel is too busy holding on for dear life.

Thankfully, Dean is a great team player because he's unbuttoning their pants in seconds, artlessly shoving his hands inside to bring their cocks together. 

It's rough and dry and there's nearly uncomfortable friction. " _Faster_ , Dean!" Castiel growls, biting down on Dean's neck hard. 

Dean sobs a moan, jacking them off fast. "Fuck," he swears breathlessly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_! G-g-gimme more, Cas! Need it!"

Desperate for his own release and meeting Dean's needs, he scrambles. Rips open the top of Dean's shirt to leave a trail of bruising marks across his shoulder. Fists into his hair harder, his blunt nails scraping against Dean's scalp. 

Dean has them pressed so tightly together that he can barely move his hands on their dicks, but it's enough. It's plenty. 

Castiel comes with a low growl, riding out the aftershocks by rutting against Dean until his husband cries out forcefully and then his body goes slack. 

Carefully, Castiel extracts his hands while peppering Dean's lightly bruised skin with much softer kisses. 

"That b-b-barely did anything," Dean whines. 

Castiel laughs humorlessly. "I know."

Burying his nose against Castiel's neck, Dean blindly gropes for the handkerchief in Castiel's pocket to wipe his hands, and then tucks them both away. "Sorry."

"It's not you or me," Castiel says, just to prove he really does understand. He presses a reassuring kiss against Dean's hairline. "We can only relieve so much stress in situations such as these."

With a reedy groan, Dean stands to full height, looking at Castiel with something close to longing sadness. "I wanna enjoy sex with you again. Wanna enjoy my _life_ with you ag-g-gain."

It's the simplest, most profound declaration anyone has ever said to him before. It makes Castiel radiant. "We will." He cups Dean's face and says seriously, "this is a blip on the radar compared to the rest of our lives. We'll be happy and content and satisfied. We'll get past this."

A tiny smile ticks up the corner of Dean's kiss-swollen lips. "The only way out is through."

Castiel nods. "Just a little while longer."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Waiting remains the biggest enemy. The shifts rotate irregularly and randomly, so normal sleep becomes a luxury for the bodyguards.

Sam grows even more sullen, though he makes an effort to hide it around everyone except Gabriel. In an effort to help alleviate the growing cabin fever, they decide to have family meals twice a day. No shop talk, all steadfastly ignoring the pall that's hanging heavy in the home. No one has any interesting news to tell since they've been breathing down each other's necks for so long, except for Cain, who proves to be singularly amazing at filling the silence, and even sometimes lightening the mood. It's something, at least. 

And either by some sense of camaraderie, or superstition, Sam asks Castiel to say his usually silent prayers over meals aloud. 

Castiel does so with measured gravitas that comforts all of them. But every day it's more fleeting. 

Michael is getting into their heads better than Lucifer did. Even Cain can't solve that after a week of tension. 

However, the thing about tension is that it always breaks eventually. 

It's after two in the morning when Dean's patrolling near the pool that the taut line begins to fray. 

He stops, slowly backing behind the pool shed and undoing the catch on his shoulder holster. He silently slips his sidearm out, thumbing over the engraving on the pearl. The thought of Castiel lovingly selecting the gift and perfecting it, calms the initial trembling from the adrenaline. With his left hand, he keys his mic. "Movement in zone two. B-b-by the pool," he risks whispering. 

His second answers, "green team, close ranks. Run radio silent. Dispatch only."

There's a series of patterned clicks over the radio of everyone confirming.

Castiel's icy smooth voice comes through quietly. "Novak on dispatch. Camera sweep. Stand by."

Dean clicks his mic once and holds as still as possible behind the wall, regulating his breathing. 

Castiel says, "I have visual confirmation of the intruder. He appears to be alone. You're in a blind spot, Dean. Are you behind the pool shed?"

Dean clicks his mic once. 

"Your team is moving into position. All accounted for on camera."

With that, Dean steps out from behind his cover, gun raised half-height in warning. "Hey, Mike," he says casually. "Kind-d-a rude showing up without an invite."

"You know why I'm here," Michael says like he'd been expecting this the whole time. Like it's exactly what he wants. 

Over the radio, Castiel says, "APD is three minutes out. They were in a shift change. That's how Michael got in. Keep him talking."

Dean clicks the mic once. "I surely do," he says to Michael. "B-b-ut you know I won't let you hurt anyone."

"I said _talk_ , not bait," Castiel says sourly.

"You can't stop me, Dean," Michael says. "I already hurt one of your men a few days ago, no problem."

Dean shrugs easily. "That's 'cause we're cannon fod-d-d-der. You can hurt us all you want. We won't let you hurt Sam."

Michael turns to face him fully and takes a step. Dean registers the flash of metal before anything else, and he raises his gun higher. But Michael remains in an open posture, the blue pool lights illuminating him from below the wrong way so that Dean can't see his face properly. 

"I'm not after Sam," Michael says plainly. "Not really."

Dean's finger flicks off the safety. "Then why the fuck are you here?" he demands. 

Michael shrugs. "I want all of you." He gestures expansively. "Don't get me wrong. I know you didn't ruin my life. Lucifer did. He was small minded and only looking out for himself. But..." He shifts again and sniffles. His voice is thick when he continues. "He was my family. You took away my family. And you want me put away again, too. So. Fair's fair, right?" He lifts the hunting knife. 

Dean almost laughs. Almost. "D-d-dude. You brought a knife to a gun fight."

In his ear, Castiel mutters, "dammit, Dean."

Dean quirks a smile. 

It takes Michael aback. "What?" he demands warily.

"You remember Castiel?"

Michael nods.

"He's in my ear telling me to shoot you."

"The hell I am," Castiel growls. 

"You can," Michael says blithely. "It won't stop me."

Dean cocks his head, squinting curiously. It doesn't look like Michael is carrying the bulk of Kevlar under his clothes. Dean's been taught how to spot things under clothes during his domestic terrorism training with the Feds, and the only thing Michael is packing is his knife. "Pretty sure b-b-bullets can stop anyone." _If I can actually manage to hit the right fucking target._ He adjusts his grip, stance wide.

Michael spreads his arms. "Not me."

Castiel breaks in again. "Your team's in tight."

Dean sees them in his peripheral vision. He inclines his head to signal them to stay back. "You're surrounded," he tells Michael. "D-d-don't do anything stupid."

Michael's face twists with sudden rage. "It's not stupid!" he yells. "It's not stupid, Dean, it's revenge!"

"Oldest lie in the b-b-book," Dean warns. "It's not like the movies. Revenge won't g-g-give you shit in return."

"It will so!" Michael insists. "Lucifer told me one thing that's true. He said that I had a destiny to fulfill and I couldn't be stopped. Not until I achieved this. I believe him. I don't even care if I die afterwards, or go to jail. I'll be taking you down with me. Lucifer started all of this, and I have to finish it."

"Why?" Dean demands, looking for _anything_ to deescalate the situation.

But then, tears in his eyes, Michael says hopelessly, "because Lucifer's my brother, and I love him."

There's a shout over the radio, but Dean sees it. It's just like it was with Lucifer. The adrenaline rush slowing everything down. He sees Michael flip the knife in his hand for a better grip. He sees Michael raise his arm. He sees the intent. 

He's standing as far away as the targets on the range.

Michael lunges forward and with a rush of clarity overlaying his previous experience in a situation so similar to this, Dean pulls the trigger. Fleetingly he thinks, _why does it always take so long to do so little?_

After that, it's fairly organized chaos as the world comes rushing back. The team closes in at the speed of light, grabbing Michael and securing him even as he howls in rage and pain. There are sirens. People running. Dean is the only one standing still. He blinks and Michael's being hauled away by the police. He blinks again and Sam and Gabriel are coming out of the house looking scared. He blinks again and Castiel is right in front of him, filling his vision.

Castiel is trembling uncontrollably as he reaches out and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asks, even his voice shaking.

Dean holsters his gun. Cups Castiel's elbows. "I'm fine," he says calmly.

"You're in shock," Castiel counters.

Shaking his head, Dean says, "I'm not. Cas, I'm okay. I swear. I... I'm really okay. It was a clean shot."

"Yes, it was," Castiel confirms with a scowl. Then he kisses Dean. A second time. A third time. He can't seem to stop kissing Dean, who allows it until the panic goes away. Then, being a party pooper, Castiel says, "I wasn't happy with the way you decided to play cowboy, though. You have a team for a reason."

"They had my b-b-b-back like they were supposed to."

Castiel grunts. Then he locks eyes with Dean pleadingly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Dean assures him as the tension starts to leak out of him giving way to exhaustion. He'll say it as many times as he has to.

But he doesn't because Castiel starts to smile. "Good." He wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders and guides him towards the family who are all huddled on the porch in front of the sliding glass door looking properly worried, though much less scared. Before they reach them, Castiel asks, "did you mean to shoot him in the leg?"

Dean laughs shortly. "Who knows."

He can tell that Castiel wants to argue, but it can wait. It can all wait. Right now, he's enveloped in a group hug that he sinks into. It's over. It's over and done with now. It's such a relief. He can't even find the words for it. Pushes away the last several months of his life trying hard to flash in front of his closed eyes. There was a lot of damage done, but it's useless to focus on. The repairs had taken energy, time, love, devotion, everything in them all. And they're close enough to being complete that the rest seems like nothing more than window dressing. 

It's been so long. But damned if it isn't worth seeing Sam so happy. 

When the moose sees fit to release him, Dean tells his brother, "love ya, Sammy."

Then he's yanked into another crushing embrace. "Love you too, Dean," Sam murmurs.

Now they can move on. For good.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW! FINAL CHAPTER!!!!** The family gets on with the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, y'all, it's the end of the line. I'm kind of emotional right now, so I'll keep it short and just give out some thank yous.
> 
> To my bestie, [ltleflrt](http://tumblr.com/ltleflrt), who guided me through all my ups and downs and roadblocks with this fic. It never would have gotten written without you. And it _certainly_ wouldn't have been this long! :D
> 
> To all of you readers, _especially_ those of you who have been following along for eight months since the beginning of this. I love you all. I can't even tell you how much your comments and support have meant to me. This fic was a long process, and as of this last post, my longest fic ever. I never would have had the steam to finish it without your constant support and snot crying and beautiful key banging comments. Thank you!
> 
> To everyone reading this for the first time: lucky ducks not having to sit on those cliffhangers, huh? ;D
> 
> **Chapter Tags:**  
>  impaling (BDSM)   
> shibari  
> suspension play  
> edging  
> orgasm denial  
> bottom Dean  
> top Castiel  
> fanboy Dean

"No matter what, you must remain as still as possible," Castiel warns for the fifth time as he layers diamond after diamond of rope to engulf Dean in a hammock-like harness. 

"Yes, sir," Dean says, as still as a statue.

Once finished, he adds, "these ropes need to be tight enough that they don't slip, but not tight enough that you can't breathe. Take a deep breath."

Dean does so. His chest expands, but then stutters. It's good enough, though. Not comfortable, but not too restrictive. "It's good."

Castiel smiles. "I'll bind your hands hands first and then your ankles. Are you _sure_ you can do this with your prosthesis?"

With a fondly exasperated look, Dean answers, "it's fine. I swear. It's always fine." Without giving Castiel more time to argue, Dean back steps to his position. The metal bar suspended from the ceiling by sturdy chains and a winch rattles as Dean drapes his arms over it, leaning against it to test his weight. It holds perfectly. He gives his Dom a sunny smile that he knows gets him every time. "Look. You've spent a _lot_ of time planning this down to the last contingency. It's a first for b-b-both of us, but I trust you. Always have. Plus, it was your idea to make our leather anniversary literal."

Castiel fingers the leather cuffs. "I really do want this, in case that was unclear." He tilts his head to look at Dean properly. "Being able to stand back and watch you come apart for me?" He sighs indulgently. "It's art, Dean."

"Then get over here and paint your damn picture," Dean answers. "I'm harnessed, I'm hard, I'm lubed, and I'm waiting."

Castiel's smile turns towards the feral. "You're also still so impatient after all these years."

Dean ducks under the bar to put it behind him and grabs onto it, sliding his palms outwards along it, spreading his arms wide. "I'm trying to inspire your confidence. Plus, if we do this now, there's no one around to hear me scream for you."

Castiel comes up beside him, expression hardening as he goes. "You make a fine point." He takes Dean's left hand, threads their fingers together, and raises it to his lips. He kisses each knuckle, and murmurs, "happy three year anniversary." Then he wraps the padded leather cuff around Dean's wrist, securing it to the bar. He moves on to Dean's right hand and does the same. When he's finished, he steps back and stares at Dean. "Try to break out of them."

Dean yanks at the cuffs, straining as hard as he can. They don't budge. 

Castiel licks his lips.

Dean grins. "You just wanted to see me flex, didn't you?"

Castiel shrugs dispassionately, moving over to the load bearing post where the winch controls are set up. "It's a side perk. Are you ready?"

"Green," Dean answers. "So, so green."

Castiel presses the switch and the winch engages, pulling Dean up painstakingly slow. Castiel likes it this way because Dean can feel every single small movement. His arms start to stretch, biceps pulling as his arms fight to stretch over his head. The burn is awesome. It never gets old. Makes his brain protest for all of five seconds before the endorphins kick in, slipping him into that special floaty place that only his Dom can get him to. He knows it's starting to get good when the loud clanking of the chains fades into the background so that he's not entirely sure when it stops. But it does. He's dangling, but not high. Only a couple of feet off the ground.

Castiel comes back in front of him and deliberately sits down on the padded bench in front of him, dragging over the spreader bar with its additional attachment. He closes it until the ankle cuffs are only about a foot apart. Then he double checks the impaler pole and the silicon dildo on top to ensure that they won't slip no matter what. For an added safety precaution, he's added a stopper at the bottom so that it can't slide into Dean too far if he somehow goes against the rules and tries to bend his knees. Which he won't do because he's a spectacular sub. Still. Always better to be safe than sorry. 

With his legs so close together, the dildo doesn't quite touch Dean's hole, but not for lack of trying. Dean wiggles a little, and if they hadn't been doing this for more than three years now, Castiel would think his sub was just trying to make himself more comfortable. 

Castiel slaps Dean's inner thigh, eliciting a sharp moan from him. "Behave yourself, or you will find yourself stuffed full of that toy with no proper release later."

"Oh, G-G-G-God," Dean whimpers.

Castiel ducks his head down so that Dean can't see him smile. _So perfect,_ he thinks. Dean is still so responsive. Maybe even more than he was when they first started this. "Hold still," he commands.

Dean does so, but he doesn't relax. His arms flex as he rests them on top of the bar to keep them from tiring out too quickly. It's awkward trying to balance in such a spread position, but he manages to distribute his weight property, suddenly incredibly aware of how vulnerable it is. 

He's gotten used to it over time. Castiel has made a point to leave him bared and open as often as possible because Dean still has difficulty letting himself be vulnerable in any other way. But he lets Castiel help him explore it because it's never humiliating or scary. He's harnessed so tightly by ropes over his torso to remind him that his Dom Castiel will always take care of his physical vulnerability, and his husband Castiel will always take care of his mental vulnerability. In this way, Dean can let himself enjoy the lack of power and control. He can freely give it to him Dom. Castiel wants it, and he treats it better, anyway. Dean ignores it. Castiel crafts it into splendor. 

Those thoughts take him out of his body until he can finally give in. Let the ropes and and the cuffs take him fully. It's fucking great. Freeing. 

As a reward for his compliance, Castiel slides the spreader bar open wider until it clicks solidly into its next lock, Dean's legs not resisting at all as they're spread wide. The tip of the dildo presses lightly against his rim. Castiel sits cross legged on the bench, watching with rapt attention as Dean's hole clenches and relaxes, desperate to have the slicked toy inside of him. Usually Castiel would attempt to curb Dean's impatience, but it works in his favor today. It heightens the frustration, but also the anticipation.

But the way that his sub trembles with a sigh is irresistible. Castiel's fingers touch just over the prosthesis, stroke up Dean's shin, then around his calf. He gets to his feet, just at Dean's chest level. He barely has to bend down to close his mouth over Dean's right nipple.

Dean jerks, the chains rattling. 

Castiel clamps his teeth down over the areola, biting hard enough to bruise. He sucks firmly, rolling the stiff tip of his tongue around and around the peak. Dean pushes his chest forward, but Castiel braces against Dean's ribs to hold him back. He moves on to the left nipple, giving it the same attention, but pinching the bruised one between his fingers. Dean's cock jumps, and Castiel pulls back, blowing lightly over the spot he'd sucked. The noise his sub makes in response is beautiful. 

He kisses and bites his way leisurely down Dean's chest, between the diamonds of rope, eyes closed in the bliss of someone enjoying a fine meal. As he meanders back down Dean's legs, ignoring his dick completely, he spreads the bar further, again as slowly as he can manage. Dean lets out a loud sigh as he's finally breached, though it's just by a couple of inches so far.

Castiel watches closely again for any sign of discomfort, but Dean takes the toy greedily, clenching around it, muscles taut, skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. But instead of getting the relief he expects when being filled, the toy doesn't move, and neither can Dean. There's only the ghost of more pleasure ricocheting through his body to be left unfulfilled.

As soon as his body registers how little it's getting what it wants, a quiet sobbing breath punches out of Dean's lungs.

"You're doing well," Castiel soothes. He straightens up, but it's not quite far enough. So he spreads the bar further to the next stop. The dildo slides deeper and Dean throws his head back. Castiel rewards him more by taking the head of Dean's cock into his mouth with teasingly light suction.

A bead of precome leaks from the slit. Castiel curls his tongue into it, prodding under the foreskin.

Dean cries out, chains rattling again. "C-C-C-C-Cas!" he shouts.

That's the cue to pull off. He leans back on the bench again. Dean's skin is flushed, tendons straining on the strong column on his neck. His mouth is working, forming soundless words, eyes clenched tightly shut. Had they more time, Castiel would dearly love to leave his sub like this for a time. Tease him until he begs for mercy. Memorize the lines and angles of him being held captive. It's not a luxury they have today, so Castiel contents himself watching Dean fight to win over his own need. It takes a minute or two, though the battle is won eventually. 

The second that it is, of course, Castiel works the spreader bar open as far as it can go, and Dean takes in the dildo all the way. His whole body jerks and he curses.

"Look at me," Castiel says firmly.

Dean shakes his head vigorously.

"Now, boy!" Castiel barks. 

Dean's head falls forward, eyes opening like they're weighted with lead. It breaks the seal on his tears. They've lovely, too.

Castiel watches them patter to the gym mat, the sight of them making his dick swell. "How do you feel?"

Dean's mouth keeps moving, but no words come out. His eyes are glazed, breathing ragged. But Castiel is patient. He waits. Pushes away at the desire thrumming through his veins that's becoming harder and harder to ignore. "Gr-green," Dean finally whispers.

Castiel falls forward again, stuffing his mouth full of Dean's cock. He relaxes his throat, taking it in as much as he can until it nearly cuts off his air, right hand massaging Dean's balls slowly. With his left hand, he artlessly unbuttons his own pants, freeing his aching dick.

It doesn't take long before Dean's balls harden in his hand, drawing up. He's close. With a groan and barely contained control, Castiel releases both Dean and himself. Then he stands up on shaky legs to admire his work. The ropes pushing into Dean's skin. The bruising hickies. The look of wrecked pleasure on his sub's face.

"Please," Dean says hoarsely.

Castiel strokes his fingers over Dean's cheek, making the man shudder. "Please what?" he asks, tracing the shell of Dean's ear. 

"Fuck me," Dean pleads, sniffling and coughing. "Nothing's g-g-g-good enough. Nothing's ever g-g-good enough, b-b-but you."

Castiel will always, _always_ treasure these moments the most. When Dean finally lets go of everything. Feels whatever Castiel demands that he does. Responds to it. Asks for it. There's no bluster or bravado. Dean can chest thump with the best of them, but with Castiel he's learned that there's no shame in being open. No reason to think that being a man is negated by being stripped raw. This is the breadth of their love and the strength of their commitment to each other. It's painted over Dean's body. Etched into his skin. 

It often leaves Castiel struck dumb with wonder. It's such a powerful thing. 

"Very well," Castiel says indulgently. "I'm going to bring you down and unbind your hands. But the spreader bar stays." He first shortens it again so that he can unlatch the pole holding the dildo and slide it out of Dean without causing him injury. He tosses the toy aside negligently as he goes to the wall to lower the arm pole. 

Once Dean is fully released, he collapses forward, hands braced against the weight bench in front of him, ass in the air perfectly for Castiel's taking. Her looks like he can barely stand, but how he tries absolutely burns Castiel with pride. 

Out of patience, Castiel kicks the spreader bar wide, grabs Dean's ass, roughly spreading his cheeks. Watches a drop of lube dribble down his cleft. He's hot. Open. His hole clenching with the need for more. "You're ready," Castiel says for his own benefit alone. Dean's _been_ begging for it. 

He releases his sub, digging into his pocket for the lube. He's quick about slicking himself, the need making his hands shake. "How do you want it?" he demands, voice gravelly.

"Hard," Dean grates.

_Thank God_. Castiel grabs Dean's shoulders, scratching down his back. Dean bucks and shouts, but Castiel is still in control. He digs his nails in harder, a clear sign for Dean to hold still. He does as best as he can, but he's trembling so badly that he can't stop it completely. 

Taking the base of his dick in hand, Castiel slowly, but inexorably pushes into Dean. The glide is so very easy. But then he only takes a moment to adjust. Just a breath until his hips start to move. The slapping of their skin combined with their loud moans makes an obscene echo. They can't stop. Not either of them. Dean ruts back every time Castiel thrusts forward. Castiel leaves red marks all over Dean's skin as he grabs and slips for leverage.

Neither of them can last. Dean is white-knuckling the bench, claiming over and over that he's, "so close, Cas! So close!" 

So Castiel doesn't bother to try and hold himself in check. He heaves Dean's hips up to reach under and grab his leaking cock, jacking him fast. The intensity of it overwhelms every part of him.

Dean comes first, violently, and screaming Castiel's name. His internal muscles squeeze hard and Castiel can barely move inside him anymore, but it doesn't matter because Dean's pleasure is his own. He clenches handfuls of the rope on Dean's back, yanking to keep him from falling against the bench as he thrusts three more times, withdrawing just in time to splatter his sub's back with his come.

In his own haze of fulfilled lust and intense pleasure, it takes him a moment to realize that Dean has floated away, lost in his sub space. Castiel chuckles breathlessly, proud of himself. "Come back to me, Dean," he murmurs encouragingly, right into his sub's ear. "Come back. I know you can do it, my love. The scene is finished."

He can tell that Dean's trying his best, but he's never been quite as rope stoned as he is right now. To be fair, it was a beautiful scene. Dean had performed amazingly. Is still doing so.

While he's trying to wake up, Castiel checks the ropes and ties to make sure that none are too tight, or too loose. Dean likes to be fully there when they're undone or else he gets a bit disoriented and it has sometimes prompted him to drop. 

Satisfied, Castiel muses that he's really outdone himself, if he does say so. He undoes the spreader bar, giving Dean's legs back and guiding his pliant body down to the gym mat below him. He scoots them both back so he can lean against the wall, cradling Dean in his lap against his chest. He strokes at his sweaty hair, soothing the trembling.

"Fuck," Dean whispers eventually, signaling that he's coming back to himself.

Castiel kisses the side of Dean's neck, runs his lips up and down over the soft skin there. "Should I remove the ropes?"

"Nah," Dean murmurs. "Just a little b-b-bit more. Wanna feel it a little bit more."

Castiel kisses the back of Dean's neck in response. "I love you so much, Dean Winchester. With all my heart."

Dean flops his head back against Castiel's shoulder for an awkward kiss on the lips. "I love you, too, Castiel Novak. With everything I got."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"Sam," Dean says irritably. "I swear to fucking God, if you have to piss one more time, I'm gonna kill you."

"I can't help it," Sam gripes back. "I'm really fucking nervous. What if I don't win? What if I _do_ win?"

Jack shrugs. "Then you'll cry and it'll be hilarious, and your fans'll think it's adorable, and then they'll love you even more. Did you wash your hands? I'm going back outside with Cas now. Please come out soon, they're starting to seat everyone."

The second the restroom door closes behind them, Sam swings around to Dean, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "I may or may not have done something seriously stupid to myself," he blurts in a rush.

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

Sam's grip becomes almost painful. "I, well... So, get this. I told myself if I won this damn award, I'd ask Gabriel to marry me."

Wide eyes join the hairlined eyebrows. " _What_?"

"I don't think I can go through with it," Sam gulps. "I got the ring and everything, and I think I... Dean, I don't know if I can do it?"

"Why not?" Dean asks faintly, pretty fucking gobsmacked by the announcement. Suddenly Sam's weird behavior of highs and lows since the Emmy nominee announcements makes a hell of a lot more sense. Sure, he's been with Gabriel for a few years now, but Sam hadn't so much as hinted about taking it further. Dean's actually a little irritated at himself for not having put the pieces together before this. Sam has always wanted to settle down, and asking Gabriel to move in last year was a pretty big fucking hint. 

Oh, shit. He'd been so blinded by his ambivalence for Gabriel that he'd actively ignored the warning signs. Damn. He could have been there for his little brother a lot sooner. He shakes his head. Live and learn. He's here now. He can help. Maybe. He'll try. Jesus. Why is _he_ so nervous now? 

Sam breaks the spell when he leans forward until they're almost nose to nose. "What if he says no?"

That does it perfectly. Dean shoves Sam away with a snort and an eye roll for good measure. "Why in the hell would he say no?"

Sam shuffles to the sink and turns on the water, but he only braces his hands on either side of the lovely infinity sink. "Because he's not that kind of guy. A year or so ago, I kinda brought it up... and he like... laughed about it. Said he wasn't the settling down type. And now I'm screwing myself by asking him to marry me, and he's probably going to move out and dump me."

That makes far more sense than him just being scared to propose or not wanting to anymore. Dean crosses his arms over his chest and braces his shoulder against the wall. "Sam, four years ago, I sat in a car with you, listening to you b-beg me and Cas to have a talk about our working relationship. And I thought..." he grins wryly. "I thought, 'damn, I'd do anything for my little brother, b-but he's asking too much this time.' I _never_ thought I'd get along with Cas. And now?" He gestures expansively. "I would have laughed my ass off back then if someone told me he'd b-become the love of my life. That I'd even _have_ one. I wasn't looking for that. Thought I didn't want it."

He looks his brother straight on in the mirror, needing him to understand. "People can change, depending on how b-b-bad they want something or how meaningful it is." He nods towards Sam's suit pocket. "Is that ring in there really that important to you?"

Sam finally washes his hands vigorously and then shuts off the water. He scrubs his wet hands over his face then dries off with the hand towels. Only after he's done does he face his brother directly. "It _is_ ," he says with an air of desperation. "Gabriel might think it's stupid, but it's not to me. I want..." He drops his head to study his impeccably shined shoes. "I wanna be able to have a husband. To call him that. I want that extra stuff that you and Cas have. Joint bank accounts, filing taxes together, naming him my next of kin on my insurance. Kids, someday? Maybe? If it's in the cards? Like... maybe it's just a formality to some people, but it's not to me."

Dean's heart aches for his little brother, but at the same time, he has no clue what to say. Just, "Sammy."

Sam sniffles a little. Swipes at his eyes. "Watching you and Cas... what you've been through together... how solid your marriage made you guys... do you think you would have lasted with him during your recovery if you hadn't had that extra... I dunno... commitment?"

"No idea," Dean answers honestly. "Sometimes I think our marriage is the only thing that kept us from calling it quits a few times after the accident, b-b-but... it was a good thing. It kept us fighting for each other b-b-because ther was no easy out. And I love him more than I thought I'd love anyone. So... I say, take that chance." He pokes Sam firmly over his heart where the ring box waits. "I'll b-b-back your play."

Sam's smile wobbles, though it's genuine. "Thanks." 

He turns towards the door, but Dean stalls him with a hand on his arm. "Look. Gabe and I might not always see eye to eye, b-b-but that guy was willing to take a b-b-bullet or deal one out for you, and no one else, once upon a time. That ain't nothing."

"I hope that kind of love is enough," Sam answers, grin widening somewhat. "I'm trying to have faith that it is."

Dean grins back. "Okay. That's all you can do for now. In the meantime, let's go win you an Emmy."

Gabriel, Jack, and Castiel are waiting in the hall. Castiel looks concerned, but Dean shakes his head briefly. With a lot of bravado, Sam approaches Gabriel and offers his arm.

"Lead the way, hot stuff," Gabriel says, beaming and unaware.

Jack trails behind them diligently towards the auditorium, but they're in a safe place, so Dean holds Castiel back several paces by making a show of straightening his tie for him. Naturally, Castiel takes the hint. "What's going on? Sam looked a bit shaken."

Dean takes his husband's hand, threading their fingers securely. "He's gonna pop the question tonight."

Castiel physically startles. "But... but that's _great_ news! Why did he look so distressed?"

Dean watches his brother and Gabriel trade animated conversation, Sam playing off his nerves like the nominated actor that he is, probably grateful for Gabriel's skill at distraction, though in this case he's distracting him from the wrong thing. Jack joins in the banter, too, and once more Dean's pulled towards melancholy when he thinks that this could be the last night of such an awesome family. It's taken four years, but Gabriel doesn't grate on him so much anymore. Especially since he's gotten to know the abrasive agent better. And also considering he knows that he loves Sam deeply. "He thinks Gabe'll say no 'cause he's not the marrying type."

Castiel snorts indelicately. "Even I can see that's unlikely to be the case anymore."

"That's what my money's on," Dean agrees. They catch up with Sam to be led to their seats together, his brother sitting smack in the center of the group, Gabriel and Jack on the right, Dean and Castiel on the left. Sam still seems strung out by the time the evening starts, but lucky for him, there's plenty of time to calm the fuck down. 

Too much time in fact, for someone as impatient as Dean, because this awards show shit is _boring_.

It goes on forever, and Dean only recognizes a handful of shows and actors. Of course, Castiel doesn't watch fictional TV shows at all, and on top of that, the asshole appears to have learned how to sleep with his eyes open. Three hours in and he's dead to the world. 

Jackass.

But then, the moment they've all been waiting for arrives. Dean elbows Castiel in the ribs, and he jumps a little, clearly waking up again and blinking rapidly. The emcee from some show about meeting mothers or something makes a few jokes, then announces the presenter to dish out the award for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series.

And then.

_And then_.

Dean's breath catches in his throat. "It's _him_ ," he whispers, eyes glued to the stage, hands a vise grip on both his husband and his brother. "It's Dr. Sexy."

Sam laughs behind his hand. 

Castiel groans moodily, squinting and pissed about being woken up. "Did it _really_ have to be him? I hate him."

Yes. Yes, it did. "Get some fucking cowboy boots and you'd have no reason to b-be jealous anymore."

His voice is just as smooth and buttery-sex as it is on television, and this is the best night of Dean's life. And when he announces, "Sam Winchester in _Wayward Brothers_ ," Dean can't comprehend how that didn't make his brother swoon. 

"He said your _name_!" he whispers, enraptured.

Sam removes Dean's hand from his jacket finger by finger in order to hold it tightly instead. Gabriel offers his hand on the other side. 

It's a tense several seconds of an annoyingly dramatic pause. Dr. Sexy acts like he's never opened an envelope in his freaking life. Then his face eases into a smile. Another dramatic pause, Dean starting to love him a little less, but still a lot, he announces, "The winner is Sam Winchester for _Wayward Brothers_.

Dean's on his feet shouting down the rafters before the rest of the audience. Sam takes a minute to cry like a big baby and cheek kiss his cast mates before grabbing his family for hugs.

Over the roar of the crowd, Dean distinctly hears Gabriel close to Sam's ear saying, "you better ask me what you were planning to ask me later on tonight after the party, Winchester."

Sam kisses him, and then scoots out from the seats, hugging Dean and Castiel on his way to the stage.

The spotlight fixes on him, and Dean's hands sting from clapping so much. Sam hugs Dr. Sexy, too and Dean _will never forgive him_ for that, but that pales in comparison to when they put on a show for ratings - it _better fucking be for the ratings_ \- by Dr. Sexy laying a noisy kiss right on Sam's undeserving mouth.

Gabriel wolf whistles and Castiel howls with laughter, totally at his husband's expense while the crowd goes wild. 

Dean mutters, "Samuel Winchester is dead to me."

Once everything has settled down, Sam accepts the award and steps up to the podium. Dean sits down with everyone else, heart and eyes full. He's feeling pretty forgiving tonight. 

Castiel offers his hand to hold now that Sam's vacated his post. Dean takes it.

Sam clears his throat, clutching his award. "Wow," he says, every bit the shy and awkward kid Dean remembers. "Um. Thanks, guys. I, uh... I know I sound like everyone else, but I've been dreaming about this since I was a kid. I went to school for a plan B, but luckily, I never had to use it." He laughs a little. Sighs. "It's been a wild ride. _Wayward_ is an awesome show. I'm honored to be a part of it. I want to thank the directors, and writers, and my fantastic co-workers. Y'all made the show what it is, and I hope it goes on for like... thirteen seasons, or something."

There's a good natured chuckle from the crowd. Whistles from the cast. 

"I also want to thank my fans for all the support they've given me over the years so far. I had a rocky start to the show, and the support's meant everything. And... thanks to my brothers. My bodyguards. They literally saved my life when... well, when things went bad. I can never repay them enough for that. Dean. Cas." He looks straight at them. "I love you both, and I'm standing up here tonight holding this Emmy because of you."

The music starts up to play him off and Sam grins. He's never been all that great off the cuff, but Dean thinks it was a damn fine speech. The crowd cheers again.

Sam's ushered off stage and Dean watches him go, unbelievably proud. "Kinda feels like everything was worth it now," he says to Castiel as they settle back into their seats.

Castiel smiles and kisses Dean's temple. "I agree. I always believed it would be."

Dean leans to the side and kisses him. "Same."

They've earned these victories after a hell of a fight. It doesn't feel like the end of a war, though. It feels like a reinforced foundation waiting for more additions. Ready to be built on higher. 

Each and every one of them can count their blessings. See the future clear ahead of them. And they can't wait for it to get even better from here.


	40. Sabriel Timestamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW!** Gabriel and Sam find their happiness.

Sam finds Gabriel an hour into the winners party. By then, his tie is partially undone, hair falling out of its impeccable styling, and he's holding two glasses of what Gabriel hopes is bourbon whiskey. "I don't like that you figured it out," he says.

Gabriel grins somewhat sheepishly and accepts the crystal glass. He swirls the liquid around, slightly disgusted with himself for comparing it to the warm shade of Sam's eyes. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but I figured fair was fair. I'm a shit actor, so I make my millions representing them. I wouldn't have been able to look surprised, and it woulda made you madder if I'd kept my mouth shut."

Sam huffs in that nice way that makes his bangs puff away from his forehead. "How did you find out?"

"I know everything about you. It's my job, in case you've been wondering why I've been hanging around."

"You went _snooping_?!" Sam accuses more loudly than he would have, had he been completely sober.

"No!" Gabriel answers just as loudly. "I didn't--" his eyes dart around, noticing the attention they're getting. He pulls in close to Sam and mutters, "come on, let's talk more privately."

Sam instinctively digs in for a moment, but then gives way. His indignation is much stronger than his desire to be petty, at least for now. So he follows Gabriel towards the back of the sprawling mansion and through a doorway with a "privacy, please," sign hanging by a chain across it. 

"Gabe," Sam warns. He's not in the mood for his boyfriend's Damn The Rules attitude tonight, of all nights. Besides, it's his first proper Hollywood party. He'd rather not get thrown out of it. "We're not supposed to be back here." _So why are you still following him?_ he chides himself. 

"It's fine," Gabriel assures him, guiding him through a dark, empty library to a set of huge French doors. 

"We're not allowed back here," he says sourly. "You might be okay with invading someone's privacy, but I'm not."

Gabriel groans and turns to face Sam. "This is my family home," he says. "Another thing I wasn't gonna tell you."

Sam snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now you wanna lie to me, too? You told me your family lives in New York, not LA."

Gabriel rolls his eyes and digs into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a key and jiggles it in front of Sam's nose. Then he pointedly sticks it in the balcony door's keyhole. A minor screeching protest later, and the lock turns. Gabriel throws the door open and steps outside without bothering to see if Sam is following. He walks straight to the edge of the balcony, braces his palms on the stone and metal railing, and stares out into the night. 

Sam joins a moment later, silent by his side. 

"I'm one of _the_ Miltons. Most of them do live in New York," Gabriel confesses. "This place is just a rental now. Usually for shindigs like this. High profile weddings. You know the drill. They gotta put up appearances on both coasts like the show offs they are."

"Cas told me. It came up in your background check. I couldn't believe it at first, that you're one of them."

"That's a compliment, you know," Gabriel answers, though his smugness falls away pretty quickly.

Sam nods, resting his hands on the stone railing right next to Gabriel. He gazes out onto the meticulously landscaped grounds where the guests come and go, too far away to be heard. "It's a beautiful home."

Gabriel scoffs. "It's a beautiful _house_."

"What aren't you telling me?" Sam sighs.

Gabriel leans forward. Then back. "I did lie to you. A long time ago."

With false casualness, Sam asks, "about what?"

"About why I never wanted to marry anyone."

Sam says nothing, jaw clenching. 

Somewhat pleadingly, Gabriel explains, "my whole family is made of toxic marriages. And I'm not being hyperbolic here. To a Milton, the only acceptable reason to date someone - to marry someone - is to further the bottom line. Add to our influence somehow. Billionaires don't know how to do anything besides make more billions and hoard those billions."

Sam blinks at him. "Then... why did you even bother to ask me out? Why did you even _stay_ with me? Why did you tell me to propose, like, an hour ago? Were you just caught up in the moment or something?"

Gabriel grimaces at Sam's rising anger. He's really not good at this. He needs to explain it all. The situation that's made him who he is... but it's hard. So freaking hard. "Because..." his whole body deflates with his sigh. "You want the whole truth? Straight up, no chaser?"

Sam turns his back to the railing, crossing his arms in more of a protective gesture than an angry one. "Haven't I earned that?"

Gabriel touches Sam's arm, but lets go quickly. "For the first time in my life, I realized that I could have something for _me_. Something good. Worthwhile. Something that didn't just add up to a profit margin. Sam... I went out with you because I _could_. And I fell in love with you because you're you. It was... at first I..." he laughs, and it's a harsh, ugly sound. "I felt like I could pay penance. You were a freaking breath of fresh air and dating you was _easy_. It felt clean. It was all like _Leave it to Beaver_ , only with more sex and bad words."

He turns, casting his eyes up to the huge house looming in front of him. "If I'd ever brought you home - to the real family home - God, my parents would have _loved_ you. And they would have hated us. Together. How good we were." His lips curl into a hurting smirk, and the chuckle sounds just the same. "It would have been the best thing ever. Seeing their faces alone would'a been..." He shakes his head. "But you were so good for me that I started to not be such a dick anymore, and that guy? I don't recognize him."

He recognizes the stuffed up look on Sam's face. The way his voice sounds watery when he says, "that's not good enough. I can't be with you because you want to rebel."

"It's not like that!" Gabriel insists. This time when he grabs Sam's arm, he doesn't let go. "I rebelled _years_ ago. Leaving that family was it. There's a lot I haven't told you about them. Not because I don't trust you, but because I'm freaking ashamed. My family hasn't done a lick of good in this world. They have power and influence, and they've done nothing but weaponize it. Sometimes literally. They're in every shady business you can think of. I couldn't... I didn't wanna be like them. And joke's on me, right? I moved to Hollywood and became _exactly_ like them."

Sam turns slightly towards him. "I don't think you're like that. Not anymore. But that doesn't explain why you don't want to marry me."

Smiling wryly, Gabriel says, "would you argue semantics if I said it's more like I didn't want you to marry me?"

"I need a reason," Sam frowns.

"Easy-peasy. I'm poison."

"Fuck that! So, what then?" Sam says, exasperated. "You were just gonna stick with me until I outlived my usefulness to you, and then dump me?"

"That was the idea before I started dating you," Gabriel answers. "That's how agent/talent relationships work." Suddenly looking straight at Sam he asks, "do you know why I signed you?"

Thrown a little by the subject change, Sam shakes his head slightly. Then, deciding to play ball, he answers, "because you always signed up and coming young actors, and I thought, 'go big or go home.' I'd had some minor and recurring roles, but I wanted that _Fairy Tales_ audition, and I needed the best agent who'd get me in their door. You said I had the right 'it factor,' like we were in some 90's rags to riches movie, and you signed me."

Gabriel laughs a little at the assessment. "There's that." Then his amusement fades. "But there were also my selfish reasons. It wasn't total symbiosis."

"For me either," Sam says before Gabriel can continue. "Crowley warned me about you. He said I'd definitely get to where I wanted to go, but that the second I got big enough to have some of my own clout and lower your percentage of take home pay, you'd kill our contract and move on to the next big thing."

Gabriel shrugs and tilts his head from side to side in agreement. That was entirely his MO.

"I already knew you were a snake the day I walked into your office," Sam continues. "It's the only time I can remember Dean and Crowley totally agreeing on something, so I almost listened. Dean told me not to bother with you, too. They made a lot of good points. I mean, depending on your mood, you wouldn't just fire a client. You'd ruin their rising career. That's how you were taught to do business. And I was used to making the smart play. But when I sat there and thought, 'that won't happen to me,' I took it and rushed ahead, even though I figured it would be me someday. There wasn't anything more special about me than anyone else."

Gabriel sighs. "You're not wrong. And I blamed it all on that just being the way things work in Hollywood."

Sam nods along. "I knew that if _Wayward Brothers_ got syndicated, that'd be your ticket out. I thought it would, anyway. All the signs were there. But then... way before any of that... you changed. I didn't know what to expect. Then the exclusive contract? I didn't know what to think." He shoves his hands agitatedly through his hair.

"Well, _that_ was me being a fucking idiot and putting all my eggs in one, tall, sexy basket," Gabriel quips without any bite. "Mutually assured destruction."

"Was it?" Sam demands helplessly.

"You tell me," Gabriel answers bitterly.

Sam shrugs, for a moment looking a lot bigger, then slumping to look a lot smaller. "For a solid week I thought it was. I mean, it _is_. If my fame didn't pan out, we'd both be at square one. But none of it seemed right. Three lawyers didn't see any vague language or loopholes in that contract. So eventually I thought..." he trails off, hands flailing anemically. 

Against his better judgment, Gabriel turns to face Sam if only to take an artfully vague step closer. "Just tell me," he murmurs. 

"I thought it was a cry for help," Sam says in a single puffed breath, cheeks reddening.

Gabriel feels his whole body warm in response. Guy's not wrong. Too fucking smart for his own good, is what he is. He should have known with the Stanford degree. So he remains silent. He's not as smart as Sam. Not by a long shot. Not in the right ways.

Emboldened by his silence, Sam continues, "I thought it was genuinely a way for you to get away from all the bullshit. Like maybe I could help you do it. Whatever the toxicity was, even if you didn't tell me about it... you saw a way for me to help make it better. And I was down for that. I mean, yeah, I realized you were using me to accomplish something, but I was paying you, so..." he shrugs again. "And if I was right, then it made me feel pretty honored."

"I was fucking you, too," Gabriel fills the silence slyly.

Sam's ears join in the blush. "It was complicated," he mutters.

"Still kinda is," Gabriel says, not unkindly. 

Sam boldly reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the velvet box. He sets it on the stone railing. "Not if you say yes and marry me." He pops open the top and steps away from it, pressing his back against the pillar. Calling on all of his acting skills to make it appear as though he's not about to go out of his mind with anxiety.

Gabriel shuffles towards it, gently touching the platinum band. It's nice. Understated. There are depressed settings on the top for stones after they seal their vows. It's beautiful. "I've always hated rings," he murmurs. "I've never worn them ever." He wants to wear this one, though, very badly. He can feel what's left of his soul yearning for it.

"I won't fire you if you say no," Sam says softly, each word pulled from somewhere he doesn't want to go. "I'm only asking you to marry me because I love you that way, and I want that sort of life with you. And I think you do, too since you told me to ask you a few hours ago."

"I don't think anyone's ever felt that way about me," Gabriel muses. He looks up at Sam plaintively. "I'm scared of you. I always have been. And even if it was just for a few hours, I liked to believe that I could have that sort of thing."

Sam smiles. Shakes his head. "There's nothing to be scared of. And you _can_ have that sort of thing. I want you to." He balls his fists and then flexes his fingers. "Really, _really_ want you to."

"There's _everything_ to be scared of!" Gabriel protests. He gestures weakly to encompass all of Sam. "You're eight feet tall, and nice, and _kind_ , and you want dogs instead of kids, you go running, you have a million women and men drooling all over you all the time... you could have literally anyone!"

"Anyone but you, you mean," Sam says sourly. "You know, the one person I want. The person I love."

"Why do you have such bad taste?" Gabriel laments.

"Dunno, probably a flaw in my upbringing," Sam quips. "But it's too late to change me now." He shrugs with a dramatic sigh. "I guess you'll just have to give in and say yes."

Gabriel tries not to smile, but the curls of warmth suffusing his veins pull his lips up slightly. "You're gonna regret this. You're gonna regret _me_."

Sam risks stepping up to the ring box again. He picks it up. "That's my decision to make, isn't it? Look, Gabe, I'm me and you're you. You're stuck here thinking that you need to make the best choice for the both of us, but that's not fair. You're only responsible for making your own choices. You can go ahead and think that I'm making a mistake, but I don't think I am, and that's the best that I can do. So, do me a favor and make your own choices, and I'll make mine. That's the only fair way." He drops to one knee.

_Just like a goddamn black and white movie,_ Gabriel thinks, heart thudding double time. _Fucking actors_. He tries to say Sam's name, and fails miserably. Oh, well. He can be excused, probably. Sam in a tux. The goddamn moonlight over their shoulders. The perfect fucking weather.

"Marry me, Gabriel," Sam says boldly, holding up the ring box with fire in his eyes.

Gabriel plucks the ring from its seat. "Well, since you even had the decency to come down to my height level to ask me, I suppose I'll just give you what you want." Unceremoniously, cheeks burning, Gabriel slips the ring over his finger. "I'll marry you, Samshine. Good idea or not, I'm in."

Sam surges forward, grabbing Gabriel around the waist and knocking them into the railing. It hurts his arms and back the same way that the kiss hurts his lips, but it should be this way. Sam should definitely be kissing him this way. It's the only way that makes sense. And it feels good. Perfect, even. Not how Sam had pictured it feeling when he'd dreamed about getting married, but reality is often much better than the fiction. For all of Gabriel's fumbling and excuses, he sure does go after Sam like he knew what he was doing the whole time. Like he'd been planning to say yes the whole time.

It makes Sam's heart lurch to realize that he probably hadn't been. However, he hopes in years to come that they'll both be able to fool themselves into believing that Gabriel had just been trying to make sure that they were both _truly_ ready for this commitment. 

Either way, they're ready now, and Sam _really_ wants to be done with his first major Hollywood party. 

"You're gonna want the whole shebang, aren't you?" Gabriel says against Sam's lips while he lets his fiance haul him up onto the stone railing so they're at a more advantageous equal height. He's not worried about hanging his ass over a thirty foot drop. Sam's got him. 

"Huh?" Sam breathes out against his neck, less interested in words at the moment that running his lips up and down Gabriel's neck.

Gabriel moans a little when Sam zeroes in on the sensitive spot under his ear. "You're gonna make me a Hollywood spouse."

"We live in Texas," Sam mumbles, biting gently at Gabriel's earlobe. 

His libido loathe to do it, Gabriel plants both palms on Sam's extraordinary shoulders to shove him away slightly. "You're not gonna let me be your quiet wife, are you?"

"Husband," Sam corrects automatically like that's the actual important part. "And what are you talking about? You're already with me all the time on set and at home."

"I mean, you'll want to make a big announcement and have a huge wedding and take me to all the awards shows on your arm. Walk the red carpet."

Sam blinks, the haze of lust starting to clear. "You don't want that?"

Gabriel's thin lips thin further. "I don't want that for _you_."

Sam reaches out and thumbs at the ring snugly on Gabriel's finger. "Didn't we just get over that?"

" _We_ did, but I didn't," Gabriel protests.

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam sighs. "Why wouldn't I want to take my fiance, and then my husband, with me to show off?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Because the fans won't like it."

Ah. Sam gets it now. He really should have considered this a lot more. Sam's famous. More famous by the day. And his fans... most of them are completely supportive, but he'd have to be blind to not notice how they look at him. His face is his own and he sees it every day, and is therefore used to it. But his status and his life being splashed all over the tabloids all the time... some of his fans can't help but think they know him better than they do. That they have a bit of a claim on him. They want him. That's what happens with fame. He gets it. "Are you worried about something like Lucifer and Michael happening to you?"

Gabriel nods. Purses his lips. Shakes his head. "I don't want people to start hating you for being with someone like me."

Sam sighs louder. "Dude, you're the one who likes you least in the world. You're hot, you're protective, you're smart. You're the perfect match for me, Gabe. My fans'll get used to it. They already have about us dating. They don't know me; not really, so their opinions don't matter. I might be some sort of star, but I'm also a person. The only thing that matters is what you and I think, and what the people who actually know and love us think."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "And you somehow think Dean-o is gonna be nicer than some of your fans about it? He kinda, sorta, really freaking hates me."

"No, he doesn't," Sam smiles. "He was on board when I told him I was gonna propose."

"That's new and different," Gabriel muses. His eyes narrow. "Was he drunk?"

Sam snorts. "You're marrying me, Gabe. There aren't any obstacles. Stop arguing with me, and let's just do what we both clearly want."

Gabriel slides off the railing and kisses Sam on the way down before he has to raise up on his toes in order to do it. "Fine. As long as you get to be the arm candy, even though you're the famous one."

"I can handle that," Sam grins.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"Your engagement photos are so gross," Dean laments over breakfast.

"You've already said that, like, a million times," Sam reminds him.

"I'm gonna keep saying that every time," Dean reminds him. "I can't even do a simple Google search without your fucking kissy faces showing up in the results. Seriously, who tags your engagement photos with 'b-b-big tits?'"

"Why were you googling big tits?" Sam shoots back. He turns to Castiel. "You're letting him look up porn?"

Castiel, at the other end of the table, serenely flips a page on his magazine. "I think it's just a habit at this point. Simply part of his routine."

Sam laughs, grossed out. "You can't end your day without nipples?"

Dean shrugs, shoveling fruit salad into his mouth with alarming speed. "Maybe, yeah. B-but that time I was just Googling whatever popped into my head to see what _wouldn't_ turn up news of your upcoming nuptials."

Chuckling, Castiel adds, "he's jealous."

"Why would I b-b-be jealous?" Dean scoffs. "Getting married is weird and awkward enough. Having the paparazzi around would only make it worse."

"You mispronounced 'romantic' and 'profound,'" Castiel says dryly. "Though you are correct about the paparazzi. They are going to be a logistical nightmare."

Sam sits down beside his friend, sipping his coffee. "As long as they don't get close enough to use anything besides a telephoto lens, I'm fine with it. Pitfall of the job."

"There will be plenty of security," Castiel assures him. 

"Yeah," Dean drawls. "You just focus on not flub-b-bing your vows or snot-crying enough for the cover of the Enquirer."

"I'm adorable even when I'm crying," Sam sniffs imperiously. "Lots of people say that."

"No people say that," Dean argues.

"All his fans say that," Gabriel quips from the doorway, traipsing into the room. He plops unceremoniously into Sam's lap, leaves a wet, smacking kiss to the side of his head, then proceeds to add three heaping teaspoons of sugar to Sam's coffee in order to render it completely undrinkable to everyone else but him. Sam makes a face, but moves on to his orange juice anyway, and doesn't bother to make Gabriel move.

They're going to be one of _those_ married couples. Dean is obviously thinking it because his scowl towards them is impressive.

Gabriel loves to milk Dean's irritation now that he officially can. Sam's a traitor, so of course he's letting it slide, too. And he's definitely enjoying the fact that his brother can't say anything about it without Sam firing back more than a dozen instances of him being a goddamn hypocrite with Castiel. 

Poking around on his tablet, Sam says, "I don't wanna get married at any of these places, Gabe."

Gabriel scoffs, spraying bits of waffle, and at least Sam has the decency to make a disgusted noise at that. "Why not, sugar? They're all secure and high profile. Good press for weeks."

Sam actually does shove Gabriel out of his lap at that. "I don't want the press, I want the nice wedding. Gabe, you're still my manager, so you're allowed to exploit me as you see fit with our public life. But our private life remains private."

"No famous person has a truly private life."

Rolling his eyes, Sam argues, "then let me have the illusion of it. We're getting married here. It's gonna be small, and it's gonna be awesome. And if I have to make a prenup, I will."

Gabriel climbs straight back into Sam's lap, looping his arms around the man's neck and hanging off of him in a rather alarming dip that has Sam bobbling his juice in order to steady his hands on Gabriel's back so that he doesn't fall. "You're so _romantic_ , darling. a prenup just for _me_? To make sure I'm not just after your money?"

"You _are_ after my money," Sam says warmly. "I pay you a lot. But, no. The prenup will only stipulate that you can't turn our marriage into a sideshow."

Gabriel whips up. He stares hard at Sam. "Hell, no, honeybunny. I want you all to myself. Fine. No more talk of the big stuff. We'll get married here, nice and cozy."

"At least security won't b-be an issue," Dean huffs.

Sam turns to his brother. "You're not on it, you're my best man. You, either, Cas. Or Bobby. Or Jack. You're standing with me, and that's final."

"Great," Dean grouches. "You want a b-bunch of strangers looking out for you on such a b-big day?"

"Yes," Sam says firmly. "Carry your sidearm if you have to, but you'll hold the ring and be there to wipe my nose when I cry."

"Snot cry. I said snot cry."

"Snot cry. Right." Sam grins.

Dean grins.

Gabriel nearly gags when he chokes on a whole waffle, and the spell is broken.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Thanks to Sam's schedule, the wedding doesn't happen for nearly a year. But in the interim, Dean becomes less hostile, Gabriel becomes less jumpy, and Sam just gets happier and happier. He can't even describe how it makes him feel to see his tuxedo hanging on his closet.

"I can't wait to take that off of you."

Sam turns his eyes towards the bedroom door. "You've taken a lot of tuxedos off of me before."

Gabriel saunters over to the closet and strokes his fingers over the garment bag. "Not this one, though!"

Grinning, Sam says, "you can't get ahead of yourself and rip off all the buttons. That tuxedo cost so much money."

Gabriel laughs. "You're worried about money _now_? You're the one who went all John Hammond in _Jurassic Park_ , 'spared no expense,' about this wedding."

Sam pushes up off of the bed and approaches his husband-to-be. "Why wouldn't I? I'm hoping this will be a once in a lifetime experience, marriage statistics in this country be damned."

"Is it worth it?" Gabriel murmurs thoughtfully.

Sam puts his hands on Gabriel's shoulders, turning him. "Don't start with that again. We've been over this a dozen times."

"Oh!" Gabriel blinks. "No, I'm not getting cold feet or trying to talk you out of it. I'm talking literally. What are we gonna remember about a damn wedding in ten years? Twenty? Why are we wasting all of your money?"

Easing into a smile and more deeply into Gabriel's arms, Sam says, "why are you talking like this? You grew up super rich. Isn't it a bit anathema for you to worry about huge spending on a party? Isn't that what you rich people do?"

"Yes, lavish parties are part of gig. Just sayin', though. You don't need to do this all for me."

"It's for _us_ ," Sam stresses. "It doesn't matter if we can't remember every single detail in ten years, or whatever. The feeling will still be there."

Gabriel pushes up onto his toes to kiss Sam on the lips. "Are you going to be this disgustingly romantic forever?"

Sam grins against his mouth. "Yeah. Sorry. Suck it up."

"Woe betide me," Gabriel returns, dropping to his knees.

"I didn't mean that literally," Sam counters, though his fingers immediately tangle into Gabriel's hair, encouraging. 

Gabriel walks forward on his knees, urging Sam back until he bumps into the wall. "Doesn't matter what you meant," Gabriel answers cheekily, going for Sam's belt buckle. "All that matters is how I took it."

"That's always your bullshit excuse," Sam says fondly.

"If you don't want me to suck your dick, just say so," Gabriel returns primly. He pushes the offending clothing out of the way, reaching into Sam's boxers gently to free him and stroke him loosely in his fist. It takes no effort whatsoever to bring him to full hardness, and that just makes Gabriel even more smug.

"I've never thought that for a second since the first time you did it," Sam moans. His head tips back against the wall, hips thrusting forward. He doesn't even need to look, Gabriel and he are so in tune now. His dick slides effortlessly into his mouth and Gabriel makes a noise that never fails to sock Sam straight to his chest.

He looks down his body at his husband-to-be, amazed once again at what he sees. Vaguely, the way that Gabriel sucks him off looks an awful lot like how he sucks on a lollipop. No wonder Sam finds it so sexy. Must be some Pavlovian response by now.

Warmth spreads from his dick through his legs, through his stomach, through his body. His fingers tingle as they alternate stroking carefully through Gabriel hair, to gentle tugging. 

Gabriel braces his hands on Sam's thighs, sometimes deepthroating like a pro, sometimes licking along the veins and ridges. His own moans vibrate to Sam's spine as he raises up higher on his knees so that he can jack himself off at the same pace as his mouth on Sam.

Like this is goes from easy to frantic in less than a minute.

Balls tightening, the inevitable cresting over his scalp, Sam's head thunks back against the wall again, painfully. "God, I love you," he gasps, thrusting forward once, legs ridgid as he comes into Gabriel's mouth. He calms down just in time to feel a shot of heat on his bare feet. Gabriel never was careful about his own come.

Sam grins, breathing labored, laughing breathlessly. He lets Gabriel take most of his weight as they tumble towards the bed, on top of the comforter, messing it up. 

Gabriel props his chin up on Sam's chest, finger tracing around Sam's nipple. "Weren't we supposed to save ourselves for our wedding night?" he teases.

"It was just a blowjob," Sam smiles. "So, like... we're halfway saving ourselves."

"I like the way you think, Winchester."

Sam laughs. "I'll bet you do."

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

Dean is doing his best impression of a cat in a collar, acting like he's dying of strangulation from his bow tie. "I think my shirt shrank," he bemoans, crossing to the large mirror on the back of Sam's closet door to look at himself.

"What?" Sam sing-songs. "You getting fat?"

"Marriage and happiness suits me," Dean shoots back. "It'll do the same for you."

"It already kinda is," Sam admits, standing behind his brother to study himself over his shoulder. "What's the press been saying about all of this?"

"Don't know, don't care," Dean says breezily. "Doesn't matter what they think, anyway. You do you. Your real fans'll have your b-b-back no matter what, and you don't need the others."

Sam meets his brother's eyes through the mirror. "Sometimes you're surprisingly wise."

He shrugs, turning away to retrieve his jacket. "Don't worry. It's just the experience talking. It won't b-become a habit."

"Good. I was about to not recognize you anymore." He brushes at the shoulders of his own jacket, swiping out the small wrinkles. Fits like a charm. Gabriel's tailor is amazing.

"It's b-b-bad luck to be a dick on your wedding day."

"Must be nerves," Sam smiles.

"Really?" Dean asks disbelievingly.

Sam studies himself in the mirror again, though he looks perfectly put together. "I had a nightmare the other day. I was standing at the altar and Gabe opened the door. Saw me at the end of the aisle, and then he just... bolted. Slammed the door behind him."

Dean snorts. "He won't do that."

"It wasn't like you and Cas," Sam says, turning back to his brother with pleading eyes. "When I actually proposed, Gabe tried to talk me out of it."

Unconcerned, Dean scoffs, "of course he did. B-but he ain't gonna run."

"Can either of us really know that?" Sam asks in a small voice.

Dean steps up to his brother and plants both hands firmly on his shoulders. "Yes. Ab-b-bsolutely. Listen to me, Sammy. Your man doesn't do anything b-b-by half measures. You _know_ that. He wants to marry you, and that's what he's gonna do. He loves you, and he means it."

"Is that enough?"

Dean shrugs. "It was for me." Smile smiles. It looks alarmingly wobbly, so Dean draws back with a snort. "Let's get moving."

Sam nods, unable to say anything else and they follow each other down the stairs to the back door. Once again, as it was years ago, the house's backyard is decked out to the nines for the ceremony. And just like Castiel and Dean's wedding, the crowd is small. Five rows of chairs, just their closest friends and family waiting for them.

And Dean wastes no time once they're ready. He smacks Sam on the back. "See ya down there," he quips, and then he opens the porch doors, stepping out into the sunshine and giving the cue to the musicians to start up the music. Castiel appears at his side and holds out his arm. Grinning at his husband, Dean takes his arm as the music starts and they walk down the white carpeted aisle to where Missouri is waiting to sanctify yet another Winchester marriage. She winks at them and Dean gives her a kiss on the cheek before parting with Castiel to stand to the side with Jack and watch his little brother approach the next stage of his life. Castiel, from his post with Bobby, grins widely at his best friend waiting to start the first day of the rest of his life.

Sam yanks at his collar one more time for good measure. A hand reaches up and touches his fingers, stalling his fidgeting. Sam grabs the fingers and clenches them tightly, a little gratified to find them slightly damp. He brings Gabriel's hand to his mouth, kissing it and then settling them at their sides.

"Never seen you this nervous," Gabriel murmurs, eyes trained on Dean and Castiel's progression down the aisle.

"Never been this nervous," Sam answers, also watching.

"I'm not."

Sam turns his head, surprised. Gabriel is right beside him in a matching tux, hair tamed into an attractive wave, hazel eyes clear. Happy. Completely confident. He looks... more at peace than Sam can ever remember seeing him before. It sets the last of the pressure in his chest at ease. He smiles. "I love you."

Gabriel grins in return. "Then let's get this show on the road."

They step in tandem onto the carpet and the music changes. The guests stand almost in unison as the couple slowly strides towards their goal. It's warm out. Not a cloud in the sky. It couldn't be a more perfect day, and Sam lets the sun on his back warm his body as much as his heart is. 

It seems like they're in front of Missouri before they've taken a single step. The music ends. The only sounds that follow are the rustling of fabric as people sit, and the breeze that sweeps over the lawn before everything settles like magic.

Missouri steps forward. "Here we are again," she says with an affectionate smile. "Sam and Gabriel standing here the same as Dean and Castiel." She glances over at the two beaming best men before turning her attention back to the engaged couple and their audience. "A few years ago, I recall standing in the kitchen with Sam here on his brother's wedding day, having a nice chat. He told me something very important then. He told me that there is no greater love than family. That there is nothing more important than protecting family."

Sam smiles at the memory and looks down.

"We talked for a time about how families grow and change. I asked him how he felt about his brother getting married, and Sam said that Castiel was going to add to the family in only good ways. He was going to make it stronger and happier. And that's all that matters. He's right."

Sam clenches Gabriel's hand more tightly, drawing closer to him.

Missouri notices and focuses on him. "Sam Winchester, you have a big heart. You want everyone to be happy, and to share that happiness with everyone around you; even people you don't know. And it's a good thing that you're taking some of that happiness for yourself by joining your heart and your life with someone else."

Sam nods, throat tight.

Then her warm brown eyes meet Gabriel's. "Gabriel, you've given Sam the ability to share himself with the world; all the good parts. That's no small thing. He deserves it, and you've helped him do the thing he loves. You may not be aware of this, but you're the primary reason that this family is what it is. Sam is the heart of it all, but everyone plays their part. Your expertise at finding Sam jobs has kept these fine people together and comfortable. And through all of that, you've found a place _in_ the family, and found love with Sam. I hope you can appreciate that."

Gabriel nods.

"You've prepared your own vows, haven't you?"

"Yes," Sam whispers, then clears his throat.

"Go ahead, then," she urges gently.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sam turns fully to Gabriel, trapping both their hands together. "Gabe," he croaks. He laughs breathlessly at himself and clears his throat again. Much steadier, he tries again. "Gabriel, I know I might have to spend the rest of my life convincing you of this, but you are the best thing that's ever happened to me personally. And since I get to marry you today, I don't care if it does take the rest of my life to convince you, because I get to have that life. The happiest time of my life - the happiest _minute_ of my life, was when you stopped trying to convince me that you weren't good enough."

Gabriel's gaze breaks his for a moment. But it's only a moment. Then he's looking right back at Sam again, hazel eyes brighter than they were.

"I know this all seems overwhelming," Sam continues, almost pleadingly. "My family is overwhelming and noisy. I'm picky about who I let in. I'm strict about the work I take. I'm stubborn and bullheaded. I own that. But I also think that's why you're so good for me. You're just as stubborn. You don't think twice about knocking down a single wall that's in your way. You may have come from a vastly different background than me, but you still fit here. With me. With us. I love you, and I'm so, so grateful that I get to spend the rest of my life being able to do that."

He nods again once, determinedly. Releases one of Gabriel's hands and holds it out towards Dean. Dean places the ring in his hand and Sam brings it back to slip it over Gabriel's finger. He's leaning close enough that he can hear Gabriel's quick, soft intake of breath as the ring is fully seated where it's going to stay, now inlaid with diamonds to either side of both Gabriel and Sam's birthstones. "This ring is a symbol of all of that. Something we can show the rest of the world. Prove to them that it doesn't matter where you come from. It only matters where you go and how you get there."

Satisfied that he hasn't ended up crying, he leans back again, waiting almost giddily for Gabriel's response. Finally absolutely content that Gabriel is never going to go anywhere ever again.

"You should have let me go first," Gabriel says. "You're an impossible act to follow, as usual." The crowd titters with laughter and even Sam cracks a grin. "I shoulda known after you won an Emmy and everything. But here we are." He sighs dramatically. "Sam, you know I'm not much of a romantic. Never have been, never hope to be. I also thought I'd never be standing at the altar, but who knows, right? Crazier things have happened. But I digress. Sam. Samuel. I can't stand up here in front of God and country and say that you've changed me in some fundamental way, because that's not what happened, but you've made me change myself in some fundamental ways. I didn't wanna be the same jerk who you'd met when your hair was less floppy. You forced me to reexamine what I was doing and why. Your whole family did. It pissed me off 'cause I wanted them all to like me. Do you know the last time I cared if someone liked me?"

Sam shakes his head, amused.

"Never," Gabriel answers. "Not once. But then there was the Winchester family. I wanted what you people had. And you just..." he shrugs helplessly. "You just welcomed it with open arms. Gave me an in and didn't shut the door in my face. Now, here we are." He glances around at everything as though he can't believe that he's there. Latching onto Sam's gaze again, he finally starts to smile fully. "I'm ready," he says firmly. "In front of God and country I'm ready to tell you that I love you. That I want us to have the best life possible. I will do everything in my power to keep us happy. You deserve that. You believe that I'm good enough for you, and I accept that. But don't think you have to keep proving yourself to me. You have again and again. So, it's my turn to prove myself to you. And I will. Every day."

He turns towards Castiel, who is already holding out the ring. He winks as he passes it over.

Gabriel faces Sam again, and only hesitates minutely before slipping it over his knuckle. "This ring is a symbol of you and me proving ourselves and already having proved ourselves to each other. I love you to Heaven and back, and that's the long and short of it."

Beaming, Missouri holds both of their left hands up. "Y'all did great. And I can tell you that you are going to be happy for the rest of your lives together. As a couple, and as individuals, you'll add your own strengths to this family. And you can start right now. By the power vested in me by the Lord Almighty and the State of Texas, I proclaim you married husbands with all the rights that union grants. Congratulations."

Gabriel dives forward up on his toes and kisses Sam hard on the lips.

Dean is the first to whoop and cheer, followed by the rest of them. He's also the first to pelt them in the face with rose petals as the newly married couple makes their way back down the aisle to break up the ceremony and open the reception.

~ o ~ x ~ xoXox ~ x ~ o ~

"We actually did it," Gabriel murmurs against Sam's bared chest. "We really went through with it and tied the knot."

Sam giggles a little drunkenly as he strips his husband of his tuxedo haphazardly. "We sure did. We're _married_ , Gabe. I get to call you my husband now." He rears back and boops Gabriel daintily on the nose.

Grinning, Gabriel answers, "sure, but if you fall asleep in the middle of fucking me, it'll be the shortest marriage ever."

"I'm not _that_ drunk," Sam insists. "And I've never fallen asleep having sex with you. Not gonna start on our wedding night!"

"Good call. Wow, you got me naked fast! I'm impressed."

Sam lifts Gabriel up in his arms and before his new husband can so much as shout in surprise, he tips himself forward, body slamming them to the bed. Through his wordless protests, Gabriel wraps his legs around Sam's waist, pulling him in tightly and kissing him for all he's worth. The feeling never gets old.

Sam makes only enough space between them to pepper Gabriel's face and neck with kisses and small bites that probably won't leave a mark. Neither of them cares about that, though.

For the next two weeks they haven't got anything to worry about besides each other. A honeymoon of sorts, though they've decided not to travel. The logistics aren't worth it, and Sam's too happy to put his brother on a plane. 

The house is big enough for plenty of private time. Time that they're taking full advantage of tonight. For all they know, the reception is still going on, as though no one had learned their lesson from Dean and Castiel's wedding. There'll be a lot of hangovers once the sun comes up.

Not here, however. Here is an oasis. Cool sheets with warm bodies, and Sam can't stop the heady rush of smelling Gabriel's cologne. It also doesn't escape his notice that the arms wrapping around his torso to bring him in closer are a lot more sturdier than they've been before. 

Sam smiles as he resists the pull, leaning back so that he can get to his knees and grab for the lube while he's perusing his husband's naked body. "You've been working out?" he asks appreciatively, stroking his fingers over the slight outline of abs.

"'Course I have," Gabriel slurs, moaning and arching against Sam's hands. "Have you seen you?"

Sam trails down to Gabriel's dick, stroking it to full hardness and then using his lubed hand to pump himself a few times. "I've always thought you were sexy. I don't care if you're soft around the edges."

Gabriel takes over his part of the work, grabbing the lube and slicking up his own fingers to circle his hole, pressing in, but only a little. He likes the burn. "I care. If I'm gonna be in the limelight, I don't wanna look like a cut string bean next to you."

Sam hefts Gabriel's legs up roughly, putting them around his waist and knocking Gabriel's hands away to be replaced with his cock. "You look amazing next to me. Under me." He thrusts forward slowly, breaching Gabriel with a sharp gasp and pushing in. Stopping to catch his breath, letting Gabriel adjust, adoring the blunt fingernails digging into his pectorals.

Gabriel is flushed clear down to his chest, urging Sam faster. Some measure of desperation has taken hold of him in light of the day's events. And Sam lets him take what he needs. "Maybe," he moans. "Maybe I want everyone else to be able to see me the same way that you do."

Sam snaps his hips forward with a low growl. "What if I'm jealous?"

Gabriel meets every movement with a thrust of his hips. "I damn well hope you are."

He is. Is he ever. He wouldn't ever want to lock Gabriel away, but damn does he ever want to be the only one to appreciate him like this. Sweating, panting, crying out for Sam. Again and again. It's noisy. Primal. Whiteout hot.

Sam's not even sure who comes first, though he is aware that neither of them lasted long at all. He can barely open his eyes. Convinces himself to not try.

Gabriel's soft, sated laughter, is all he needs to hear. He lets his husband be the caretaker for once. He cleans them up. Opens the window to let the summer breeze in that carries the gentle music and laughter of the continuing reception. Then his weight is back, draped over Sam and trapping the cooling sweat.

Gabriel presses a kiss to Sam's damp temple and murmurs, "in case this sort of endorphin rush never happens again, I wanna tell you that this is the best day of my life."

Sam smiles tiredly. "It won't stay that way."

Gabriel burrows against his shoulder. "You gonna get all sappy and tell me there will be better ones?"

"I sure as shit am."

Gabriel breathes out. Kisses Sam's shoulder, too. "Good. Keep telling me. Forever."


End file.
